College Sweethearts Second version
by TheKnittingLady
Summary: Spenser Reid has a secret, can the team help him find his heart? Yes, I'm re-writing it, I hope you all like the new version. UPDATE: Now includes a redo of "The Long Road" as well.
1. Chapter 1

**Note #1: **Yes, I'm re-writing a completed story. I realized that I could improve on what was done, and better get my ideas across. I'm leaving the old version up until the new one is complete, and perhaps longer if people prefer it. I just hop you all like the new one as well.

TKL

**Note #2:** I'm not pulling any punches this time. Between language, sexuality and graphic imagery this one will earn it's M rating. Consider yourself warned.

**------**

**The Chess Set **

**Now**

Another case; another unsub; twelve young women this time, all lined up in neat rows behind a garage in another small town in another rural state.

Now they just had to find the guy who did it.

Morgan lounged in his seat on the plane and looked over at Reid. The kid had pulled a small chess set from his ever-present bag, and was setting up for a game, even though no one else was sitting near him. He nudged Hotch with his toe, nodded in the kid's direction.

"This kind of case troubles him."

"Yeah, and now he's playing himself. He does that, you know, whenever the victims are in their late teens and early twenties, and the killings have been going on at least five…"

"Stop, you know the rule, we don't profile each other."

"Yeah, I know."

Still, it bothered him. After a few minutes he got up, moved to the seat across from Reid, knocking him out of whatever reverie he was in.

"Hey kid, I'll play ya." Even though he knew he would lose, easily.

"All right."

As they set up the game he noticed one of the white knights. The bulk of the set was a simple, straightforward design, heavy enough to be comfortable in the hand, light enough to carry easily, not fancy at all. But this white knight was different, it was slightly larger than the other pieces, a far more ornate design, and it gave off a subtle, spicy odor.

"Sandalwood?"

"Yeah, it was a gift, a replacement." He chose to play white.

Well, Morgan told himself, at least if he was paying attention to the game, the kid wouldn't be dwelling on the case. He, however, needed his full concentration if he even wanted to make a good showing against Reid.

Little did Morgan know that Reid only needed part of his mental capacity to play. And that he had not been dwelling on the case at all, except to reflect that whoever the unsub was, he had made it easy on him by saving the eyes as trophies. Once he found those, he would know.

No, he wasn't dwelling on the case. He was remembering.

**Then**

It had been his last semester in the Mathematics program, before he'd achieved his first doctorate, at the ripe old age of sixteen. The very beginning of the semester and already he was looking forward to the next year, his work in Chemistry and Engineering, being seventeen, and losing his "handler."

That was the problem with going to university so young. Being away from home wasn't the problem, he stayed with his sponsor, Professor Epps, most of the time and headed home at least one weekend a month to check on his mother. Who, in all honesty, most of the time, didn't even realize he was gone. No, it was that he was still young enough for the local school district to get involved, to insist that a "minor" could not be allowed to roam the campus unsupervised. After pointing out that Anything Could Happen and then the university Would Be Responsible, the end result was Lydia. She was a sweet, comforting, chatty type with a love of knitting who couldn't have beat off a mosquito, but who pleased the lawyers and who made amply sure he would never have any sort of personal relationship with any of the other students on campus. And, as the only student on campus with a full-time babysitter, that he would never, ever meet a girl.

At least he thought he was the only student on campus with a full-time babysitter. He was completely surprised then, when he walked in to the Mathematical Analysis seminar to find another motherly woman sitting in the back row, a pile of improbably colored yarn in a bag at her feet.

"Oh good! It's my cousin Adeline. I was hoping we'd have a class with her kid. I'll sit back here with her. Look, there's a spot down in front for you."

Another handler meant someone else his own age. But he didn't have a chance to scan the room, the seminar was starting. He couldn't meet Adeline, or her charge, until after the class was over.

That was when he received his next, and more striking, surprise of the day. Adeline was standing next to a girl.

She stood a foot shorter, leaving him looking down on her head. Her hair, he noted, was elaborately braided and tucked in a way similar to the cheerleaders at his old high school. She was wearing sunglasses, even though they were indoors, the orange kind that was supposed to improve your vision. He couldn't tell what the rest of her looked like; it was wrapped in a too-large sweatshirt, and baggy, old jeans.

He stared at her for a minute, one part of his mind listening to Lydia and Adeline chatter, catching the name Lynnie while the other part wondering what was ringing as so decidedly off about her. It was her eyes, he realized. The lenses of her glasses were a horrid shade of orange, turning her irises a dark, muddy color. He could not think of a single reason for it.

"You kids mind if we eat lunch together?"

They both shook their heads and followed the women towards the main cafeteria. Food was required, meals guaranteed not to look geeky enough to attract notice in a high school setting. He wondered if she had had as much of a problem with bullying as he'd had. And then as tables opened up they found a shady spot to sit, a bit away from their chattering handlers, next to a planting full of roses. She didn't speak up at first. In fact she seemed distracted, almost moody; which meant that he had to start the conversation, something he was never good at.

"So, you're Lynnie?"

"Gwendolyn. Ryder. And you're…?"

"Spencer Reid. I know it's rude, but, how old are you?" She had the most amazing, gentle voice. "Did you know that the statistics on two people in our age range in a program like this are…

"Yeah, I do, know the statistics. I'm fifteen. And it is rude to ask that." She interrupted, but he was used to that. "You're in the Mathematics program then? How much longer? And how old are you?"

"Sixteen. I should complete my dissertation by the end of this semester. How about you?" He reached for his soda, only to knock her miniature oranges into his open bag. Crap. Now he had to dig for them, "Miniature oranges?"

"They're clementines, they're sweeter. I have two semesters left to go myself." Now he was impressed. He had to pull a wooden box out of the way when he pulled out her clementines . "Is that a chess set?"

"Do you play?"

Her smile turned competitive, and yet somehow grateful. "I have ninety minutes until my next class. I bet I can beat you that quickly."

"I'd like to see you try it." Food was shoved aside, the board set up between them.

Food was shoved aside, the board set up between them. Gwen kept trying to look him over as they put the pieces in position. Tall, skinny, no scrawny, geeky as hell. But he has a cute smile, she thought. There's something comfortable about him. I think I might like this one.

"What will you bet me?" Spenser asked her as he studied the board, trying to decide on an opening move.

"Hmm?"

"A bet, a wager, what will you wager on this? Not money, something else?"

"Ummm. If I win we play again tomorrow."

I'd do that anyway, he thought. "Done. And if I win, take off those glasses. I can't see your eyes." He couldn't clearly see her eye color, but there was no mistaking the quick widening of fear there. Why?

Crap, Gwen thought, now she had to win. She did not need Adelene or this geek spotting the black eye her mother's drunk asshole of a boyfriend had given her over the week-end. But, for some reason she really wanted to do this again. Crap. "Done."

He watched her as they played. She rarely met his eyes, and even then it was just quick, darting glances, so he had the freedom to look his fill. Her hands fascinated him, slender and small and always moving. She kept touching her hair and her neck and her arms under her sweater in a way that was deeply disturbing at first. During one particularly difficult move she even started rocking slightly. But then she countered a move in a way that brought his attention fully back to the game, right up until he…lost. "That's impossible! I haven't lost in years." In the end he'd been so wrapped up in the game, the most challenged he'd ever been, that he'd forgotten who he was playing against or why.

She laughed at him, a laugh that sounded too forced, unnatural, "Good, you could stand the humility. Now we have to play again tomorrow." She started gathering the pieces, only to have one slip from her grasp and bounce from the table to a chair to the storm drain. "Oh! I am so sorry!"

"No, it's all right. It's not like it's irreplaceable. I'll pick up another this weekend. In the meantime we can use a quarter or something." He found himself grinning, amazing for someone who had lost. "I guess we're meeting again tomorrow, Gwendolyn."

"Gwen."

"Gwen."

**Now**

Reid shook himself from his memories, just in time to head Morgan off at the pass. The next day Gwen had brought that replacement knight, ornate and sweetly scented. For the rest of their time in college they had played at that spot every day, and now his memories of this set were utterly bound with the scents of sandalwood and roses.

"Checkmate in four moves."

"Aw hell, kid, I knew I would lose." Morgan sat back with a chuckle. "Feel any better."

No, Reid thought, but Morgan didn't need to know. Once again he hid his feelings behind a puppy dog grin. "Yeah. I'm fine".


	2. Chapter 2

**The Movie **

**Now**

Another state. Another case.

He and Morgan were assigned to interview the family. Odds were nothing useful would come of it, but you never knew. Sometimes it was just the thing to help crack a case. As they walked in he looked around the parts of the house he could see. These people had an unremarkable home, dining room, kitchen and den. Someone had been watching TV right before they got there, and had left it on. The familiar strains of the theme song to a Star Trek movie drifted out into the kitchen.

Oh.

**Then**

During the first week that they knew each other, Spencer and Gwen had lunch and a chess game together every day.

By the second week it was every day, and studying at the library together after lunch on week-ends.

By the second month it was meeting her at the bus stop, getting breakfast in the cafeteria, meeting between morning classes for coffee, having lunch over chess, studying in the afternoons, grabbing supper together more often than not, and walking her back to the bus.

By the third month the Mathematics department had taken notice, and some of the older and wiser professors had started a pool over when biology would rear its head between the two.

By the fourth month the pool had spread to the Chemistry and Physics departments and they were actually dating. Not that they called it such, but when he got tickets for a matinee the week-end the new Star Trek movie opened, and sorted a place to get a real dinner after, they were clearly only fooling themselves.

They were standing in line, playing chess in their heads, calling out the moves to each other in algebraic notation as they waited. Gwen turned from studying the poster for the movie just in time to watch Spencer's head swivel to follow two scantily dressed leggy blonds parade down the street. "Bishop captures b5, check. What are you doing?"

"Knight from b to d7. I'm.." He'd been looking, that's what he was doing. And without even realizing it. "I was having a…a male mammal moment. That's all."

She picked her way around this information for a long moment. "Queen side castle. A male mammal moment?"

"Rook to d8. Yes. As much as I like you, and I do enjoy your company, on one level I'm as much a male mammal as the next man. I'm attracted to physical characteristics that promote the best mating pattern. And all things considered…" He stopped for a moment, realizing far too late that that might be a bit insulting. "Sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"No, it's understandable. You're at the mercy of your hormones, just like every other male." It was a bit insulting. On the other hand it might be as much her fault as his… "Rook takes d7." Now she had to figure out how to change the game.

"Rook takes d7. Yes, well, while I might admit to having male mammal moments I'd like to think I'm too evolved to actually act on them." He didn't notice her sudden quiet; he was still paying some attention to the blonds. He was also catching snatches of their conversation, which was vapid to the point of barely being English, and utterly quashed any rising hormonal response in him. He was so distracted by trying to do three things at once that he didn't notice until she said something not in notation. "What?"

"That's checkmate. You just won." She shoved her backpack at him, followed by the sweatshirt she pulled over her head as she bent over at the waist. The bet that had started with her taking off her glasses had over time risen to her letting her hair down, literally, and peeling out of her sweater. Rather typical for a male mammal, she thought. She was absurdly grateful to the ghost of Tommy, who was two weeks into a 30 year sentence for drunk and disorderly. For once she had no bruises to hide.

"What are you doing?" Undressing in public, that's what it looked like she was doing. To say he was shocked would be an understatement.

"Fulfilling my side of the bet." She'd bent over to let gravity help her loosen the French braid she usually wore to both hide and protect her hair. She was vain of it, admittedly, but she didn't want anyone back in her neighborhood getting ideas, or using it as a handle, or sneaking up behind her and cutting it off because her distress would amuse them. When she stood up a cascade of chestnut brown curls fell to her waist, and she took off the aviator glasses she wore to hid the color of her eyes.

Spencer felt his heart ascend into his throat, even as the blood in his body redirected itself southward. She'd been wearing a snug tank top under the sweater, clearly to minimize retained body heat, and so she revealed that while petite she curved in perfect proportion to her small frame. And when her sunglasses came off… "Your irises, are they hyperchromic? Is it congenital?" He heard himself talking, as if from very far away.

"Yes, they are. It's a family trait; my grandmother had them as well." She rolled those brilliant blue eyes in the direction of the front of the line. Her minor strip had caught the attention of some of the other boys in line, and one of them popped off a wolf whistle. Unconsciously she took a step closer to Reid. "Grandma always said I looked like one of her china dolls."

Reid's inner mammal had been awakened by the realization that its perfect mate was standing right next to him. Now it looked up and started beating its chest as he put a protective arm around her shoulders and glared at the other men in line until they looked away. "I can see why, it's an accurate description." The contrast between dark curls, porcelain skin, berry lips and those amazing eyes was remarkably pleasant to look at. He knew the human eye was drawn to contrast, but the simple pleasure of looking at her like this surprised him. It only grew as he really looked below her collarbone for the first time.

Thankfully the doors opened just then, and stopped him from making a fool of himself.

------

They had collected the usual food items before going in to watch the movie, so when a certain scene caused him to look over at her, he found her nibbling on a bit of Red Vine. "You know, we might think of trying that someday." His inner mammal winced at the ineptness of its higher order thinking.

"Try what?" She whispered back, low enough to not bother anyone.

His inner mammal was distracted from the inanity of the conversation by the sensation of her warm breath on the side of his neck. "That."

"Kissing?"

"Yeah." If she wasn't my best friend, he thought, with the way she looks now I could never have this conversation with her. But, it was Gwen. Even at his most awkward and goofy, or when he was babbling out random dull facts without realizing that he wasn't actually making conversation, times when he would normally repel everyone in a three block radius, she would simply listen, be fascinated, or perhaps gently ignore him, or laugh right along with him. He was safe with her.

Gwen sat back and thought about it a long moment. On the one hand, some part of her just was not ready to get involved with anyone on that level. Intellectually she knew she was entering the latter stages of puberty, a time when she really ought to be interested in the opposite sex. On the other, most of the time she still felt about ten, and the opposite sex seemed to be contaminated with cooties or something. And that was on top of the usual awkwardness of most social situations. But…it was Spencer. She could safely experiment with Spencer, he wouldn't mind. With him she could laugh off any dismal failure as another time when they simply did not fit current social standards. Without thinking for one more moment she leaned over and pressed a quick, awkward kiss to his lips.

One moment Spencer was slipping back into the narrative of the plot, the next his senses were overcome with the faint, floral scent of hair and skin and the sticky taste of Red Vine, and the most amazing feeling of pressure on his lips. It only lasted a moment, but it was enough to pin him to his seat in shock, a spear of hot pleasure running from his mouth straight to his groin. After a long, stunned moment he slowly turned his head to look at her. In the flickering light of the screen he could see the pleased look in her eyes, the small smile on her lips. A moment more and he turned to try that again, only this time a bit slower, with time to truly explore the sensation.

The first kiss had been in Gwen's mind, utterly successful. A bit warm, an enjoyable pressure, a faint scent of a something nice that might be after shave. She could quite happily sit there and just sniff him for the rest of the movie. But then he leaned over and kissed her longer and slower and it was all just far more enjoyable that she ever expected. She quickly found herself intimately aware of her body, and the closeness of his, and the heat in the space between them. Oh.

Just as Spencer broke that second kiss a handful of popcorn landed in his face. Anger flared at being interrupted, but it only lasted a moment. Star Trek geeks are not ones who enjoy being distracted, especially by someone clearly one of their own, getting lucky with a hot girl. He could relate. But as much as he wanted to see the movie… "Do you want to stay?"

Did she want to stay? There was no way she was ever going to pay attention to the movie now. She shook her head, and a moment later was being tugged through an exit door into an alley blessedly free of dumpsters. "Wait. Do that again."

Spencer turned to look into cobalt blue eyes that had gone wide with wonder and magic. Something made utter sense now. He gently took her face in his hands and kissed her as long and slow as he dared, and then a little more.

Gwen clung to him as the world around her dipped and swirled and her nervous system tried to overload and slow, all at once. "I can't breathe." She murmured as soon as her lips were the littlest bit free.

"I don't think we're supposed to." Spencer smiled against her and dropped his head to hers again.

**Now**

Reid and Morgan got back in the car after interviewing the family, and headed back to the police station where they had set up camp. After discussing the case for a while they were silent. And then…

"You know, you can't get Red Vines on the east coast."

"What?" Morgan looked over in confusion.

"They have Twizzlers out here, and other kinds of licorice, but it's not the same thing."

Morgan thought for a moment. "Reid, what does that have to do with the case?"

"Nothing, actually. Nothing at all."


	3. Chapter 3

**The Picture **

**Now**

The case was over, the unsub caught, they were back on the plane toward home. This time nearly everyone was asleep. Reid was sitting in the corner, looking at a small, leather folder.

Emily Prentiss couldn't help but look over as she left the galley and headed for her seat. It was a picture of a young woman, with long, auburn curls and the brightest blue eyes. She was wearing a white tank top, the setting looked to be in the southwest, the breeze was teasing her curls and the light could only be the setting sun. The look on her face was one of deep, pure pleasure. She looks just like a china doll, Emily thought as she slipped into the seat beside him, jarring him out of another of his funks.

"Wow, she's pretty Reid. Who's that?"

**Then**

The theater was set in one corner of a large, open air mall. This meant that when they had kissed themselves silly they were able to find their way to a small table by a fountain. Gwen threw herself into a chair and arched back, savoring the feeling of light and the gentle breeze off the ocean through her tank top and along her bare arms. "Oh, I love this. I hate that sweatshirt."

Spencer's heart was already pounding. Seeing what leaning back did to that tank top made it about a thousand times worse. "Hold on." A nearby kiosk yielded two bottles of juice and a bottle of spray-on sunscreen. "Here, lean forward." Her hair was somehow heavy and softly light at the same time as he pushed it over her shoulders and sprayed the back of her neck and arms. "Trust someone from the desert; you do not want sunburn." And he didn't want any redness to mar the creamy perfection of her skin. "So why do you wear them all the time?"

"I have my reasons." Gwen wrinkled her nose at the sticky feeling of the sunscreen, how it felt slightly tight over her skin. Nasty stuff. But he was right, of course, a burn would be so much worse. "I hate them though, they scratch and stick and are just horrid. Between them and the jeans it's like wearing plastic wrap lined with sandpaper and twigs." She took the bottle from him to get the rest of her arms, and her chest, pulling the front of her tank top out to make sure everything was covered. "Thank you."

"Mmm?" Spencer had been distracted as he slipped into the chair next to her by the sight of the beginnings of downy curves, dipping down below her collar. His head was starting to hurt. "Oh, you're welcome. Can I ask you a personal question?"

"Of course." Gwen checked the directions, then sprayed her hands and rubbed the liquid over her face and ears. Thankfully it didn't smell too horridly chemically. The sticky feeling ought to pass soon, she hoped. "I may not answer, though. I reserve that right no matter how much you kiss me."

"Fair enough." He smiled and popped open his bottle of juice. "Have you ever been tested for Asperger's Syndrome?"

Gwen smiled at the question. "Yes, I have. My Grandmother took me in for testing when I was four. I score a 38 on the AQ test. Is it that obvious?"

"It is when you know what you're looking for. I, uhhh, did some research on the topic after I met you."

"Wait, you looked me up?" Now she was blushing. "That could be considered romantic."

"Only among the deeply nerdy."

"True." She decided to play a hunch. "What did you score?"

Spenser winced, even as he laughed "36."

"Ooo, two points closer to normal. And only one point past the cut-off." On that testing scale anything 35 and under was considered a normal variation. Now it was Gwen's turn to take refuge in her juice bottle. "I looked up schizophrenia."

"Did you?" That rocked Spenser a little. "Wow, I guess it is romance."

"Mmm-hmmm. You know there's only a 13% chance when you only have one parent ill, not 40% like you like to say."

"Forty is a worse-case scenario. I'd rather be prepared."

"I think I'd rather be an optimist." Gwen sipped at her juice.

Spenser shook off that discussion. "They say that girls with Asperger's tend to obsess over other things more than guys. It's less about facts, more about things like literature, poetry, sometimes imaginary role play or friends. I mean, you know how I get." All the facts, all the random chunks of trivia, it was his way of ordering the world, making it comfortable. Confirming that she had the same diagnosis as he did went a long way to explaining why she seemed to find his babbles comforting. "So what goes on in your head when you want to slow down?"

You, mostly, these days, she thought. But she wasn't going to admit to that yet. "I think about my grandparents, what it might have been like if they hadn't been hit." She'd already told him about the drunk-driver who took them when she was ten. "I like to imagine what it would be like to be in a place where I could safely be really girly. You know, a nice house with everything just so, someplace quiet, that kind of thing." She could spend hours lying on her bed, building her castles in the air. She could have told him exactly where the teaspoons were kept, how she'd organize the library, the color of the kitchen walls, the scent of the soaps. "I can't really do that right now."

"You can't? Why not?"

"It's just…" She shrugged and looked away. She had no desire to talk about her mother drinking their money away, moving to that horrid neighborhood, the men she brought around. "I just can't right now. If I can get that Assistant Professor position with the Mathematics department then maybe things will be different." Then she could apply for emancipation, get an apartment on campus, and do what she liked.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, until a passing group of boys made her frown. "Why do they keep looking at me like that?"

"Maybe because you're not wearing a bra." The sun was starting to change its angle, causing that white tank top to become slightly more transparent. He imagined he could see the faintest hint of coral pink around the small nubs there. It took him a moment to realize that that might be rude, and then it was his turn to blush. "Sorry. I used to have to do laundry when Mom wasn't up to it. I had to learn about underwear."

"It's all right." She tugged her neckline out again to consider the problem, unwittingly causing her companion's heart to start racing again. "I don't even own one though. Um…" She turned to look over her shoulder at the window of a lingerie shop. "Watch my bag, I'll be right back."

"Okay. You should get a girly one." He called after her. You deserve it, he thought. Spencer watched Gwen turn to grin at him as she walked off. He dug a book out of his pack and settled in to read while he waited. After a few he heard the sound of tapping on glass, and looked up to see her standing at the window, holding up some delicate looking confection in what appeared to be pink and ivory lace. He nodded helplessly, and then watched her head back into the depths of the shop. He could just picture how it would look on her, those curves just barely covered in silk and lace just a few shades darker, lifted as if offering. In his fantasy her gentle voice insisted that, of course, he could explore his fill, he could look and touch and even taste as much as he wanted. He almost grew dizzy at the thought.

Just as his pants had grown tight enough to cut off the circulation to the lower part of his body and he was about to keel over from lack of blood flow to the brain a touch on his shoulder made him startle. Gwen smothered a chuckle as she sat down, empty handed.

"You…you didn't buy it?" He fought to get his voice under control, as he concealed the evidence by putting his book in his lap. He felt body parts droop in regret.

"Not for fifty dollars. I have fifteen on me, and even then you were going to have to cover dinner. It was too bad, though, that silk was lovely soft." She'd spent several long moments looking at herself in the mirror in the dressing room, amazed that for once what she saw there matched the pictures in her head. Finally realizing the price had been disappointing. "If I get that job I will so be back. That was the weirdest thing, though. Getting measured, I mean. They get all handsy. You would think that they could automate the process somehow, preserve your modesty. I'm a 32B by the way."

"Good to know." He'd look that up online later, see exactly how big that was supposed to be. In the meantime he was going to put in a recommendation for her for that job first thing in the morning. No, maybe tonight. "Speaking of dinner, shall we?"

"Sure" She had settled back in her chair again, and turned her face up to enjoy the breeze and the sun as it started to set. How come more people aren't stopping to enjoy this, she thought, do they not feel the touch of the sun's heat, the caress of the breeze like we do? Is all this pleasure lost on them? Why do they feel sorry for us? "Anywhere in particular?"

As Spencer got up something caught his eye. "Not really. Hold on." He stepped back to the same kiosk that had offered up the juice and sunscreen. From there he could watch her, the small smile of utter bliss on her face as the setting sun lit up the plaza in a golden glow. "Hey." She turned to him and looked at him, those cobalt eyes rich with private pleasure shared for the first time. He smiled, lifted the disposable camera, and clicked.

**Now**

"Gwen." Reid answered Emily as he closed the travel frame and tucked his memories into his jacket, next to his heart. He reached for his book, hoping she'd take the clue and not ask more. "Her name's Gwen."


	4. Chapter 4

**The Music **

**Now**

Emily slid into her seat next to JJ and looked at Morgan who was slouched in the seat opposite. "Hey, who's Gwen?"

"Who?" JJ looked up from the file.

"Gwen. Spencer has her picture in his pocket."

"I don't know. I never heard the name before." JJ nudged Morgan with her toe. "Hey, have you ever heard Spence mention a 'Gwen'?"

"Nope." The big man muttered. "Maybe he finally got a girl."

"I hope so." JJ smiled and looked back down. "He deserves one."

------

Another nondescript hotel room, another night alone; the problem with working for the government was that you had to stay at the hotel that gave them the best rate. That meant that they all looked the same. Reid had gotten in the habit of putting the phone book on the nightstand, so that when he shut off the alarm clock he would see the name of the city they were staying it. It was the only clue.

Sometime around 2am he had finally read the entire file. Having changed into sweats and a t-shirt he dug out his iPod and speakers and put some music on to help him sleep.

2am, he thought as he got into bed; the witching hour, when the devil is supposed to walk the earth. Nothing good ever happens at 2am.

His play list switched to lute music, and he remembered…

**Then.**

It was the rainy season in California now. It was pouring but Gwen didn't bother to run home. Even now, with Tommy gone, it was better to be anywhere but there. The lights were out when she reached the trailer park where her mother had finally landed when the family money was gone. She hadn't noticed any lights on in any of the houses as she'd been going by, so she assumed the power was out again. Or perhaps Momma just didn't pay the bill. Both were equally as likely.

She realized her mistake the moment she walked in the door, and saw her mother on the couch, slumped over, a needle hanging from her arm.

"Hey, little bit," drawled an oh-too familiar voice behind her. He'd been hiding behind the door when she came in. She turned just in time to have Tommy's fist meet her face again.

She fell to the floor, clutching her snapped cheekbone as he stepped into the dim room. "You called the cops on me, didn't you, you little bitch?" His boot swung and caught her in the stomach, driving all the air from her lungs in one painful blow. "Think you're too good for the likes of me, do ya?" She wrapped her arms around her head to protect her mind, which meant she had to endure the sharp kick to her kidneys. Got to protect my head, she thought, the rest can go as long as I can still think. Nothing could be worse than brain damage, right?

Right?

"Think you're too good for the rest of yer family, huh? Well, you're gonna learn different tonight." His boot swing again and a sharp pain sliced through her rib cadge before she felt his hand trying to get purchase in her carefully braided hair. He was far drunker than usual; odds were tonight he'd gone for something harder. This situation could become dangerous, and quickly. "Sonofabitch!" She heard a far too familiar sound of leather on cloth and peeked out from behind her arms to see him doubling over his belt. Then she felt pain bloom along her temple as the buckle hit, and everything went dark.

------

Spencer Reid had just turned out the light, was finally getting to bed, the soft sound of a lute coming over the speakers. After a few minutes the stream of sound was broken by the rattle of something against the window. At first he ignored it, but then it happened again, and then again. It was nearly 2am, what the hell? He got up and looked out, but couldn't see anything in the darkness. He opened the window and leaned out only to hear a familiar voice. "Come open the door." It was Gwen; she was throwing handfuls of gravel at his window to get his attention, which could only mean that something was wrong.

He was already in a t-shirt, sweats, so he pulled on his shoes, grabbed his wallet and headed down to use his key card to open the main door of the dorm. When she stepped into the light his stomach turned, and for a moment he saw darkness. Her face was swollen, already turning black and blue. Blood crusted at the corner of her mouth and at the edge of her nose, which looked slightly crooked, and at a cut on her temple. She was swaying slightly and blinking into the nighttime security light. "What happened?"

"Mom's boyfriend came home pissed." She hadn't wanted to come here, had not wanted this place, him, associated with anything from there, from them. But it was late and she knew she was badly hurt, and she simply had not been able to think straight at all. So she went to the one person she trusted to think for her. "I don't feel so good."

Spencer felt his inner mammal frying to gibber and howl from outrage, and firmly quashed his emotions. Now was not the time. "Look up at me." He didn't want to touch her, didn't want to hurt her at all, but he gently guided her chin up so she was looking at the light. He watched as one pupil contracted more than the other. "I think you have a concussion." By now the dorm monitor had gotten out of bed and was in the hallway to see what was going on, hearing that he went back inside to arrange for transport. "You have to go to the ER."

"Oh, that's not good. I don't wanna." The bus driver had said the same thing, but she had insisted on coming here, to him. That had taken the last of her energy. She was so tired, really, she just wanted to sleep. "I'm tired. My side hurts."

Spencer bent over and tugged her sweatshirt up and out of the way. More bruises blossomed over her porcelain flesh like paint, over stomach, back, ribs. "You might have a broken rib." He could make out more than one boot print. He didn't want to think about that. She swayed, almost fell over, and he caught her. "Hey. Come on, Gwen, stay awake. Stay with me."

" 'Kay." But she was clearly drooping. He swung her up into his arms, realizing that he never had before, amazed at how easy it was, and took her out to the transport.

------

In all the chaos of a big, urban emergency department it was easy for him to pass unnoticed, to sneak back to her room. He waited until it was clear that the staff had left before he slipped inside and pulled the curtain between them and the door. She looked too frail in the light, still not quite cleaned up, sitting there in a hospital gown with a blanket tucked over and around her lap. "Hey. Are you okay?"

"Not really." She had told them several times that Tommy hadn't raped her, but they insisted on an exam anyway, just to be on the safe side. It was something she had never experienced before and would rather never again. Now she hurt in an entirely different way, there was a slimy coldness down there that was making her stomach churn, and the gentle brushing to find evidence had made her want to scream, caused her to cry out more than once in false pain. There was a constant flow of rough, chattering noise from the rest of the department, it just never stopped. The only good thing was that it balanced out the hum of the harsh, eye burning fluorescent lights overhead. And the smell… "That was more than moderately horrible. At least it's over."

He reached out and gently ran a finger over her arm. You could make out the hand prints in the bruises, each individual finger where she had been grabbed. "Is that why you always wear that sweatshirt? And the sunglasses?" He didn't wait for an answer. There was something he needed to know. "Why didn't you tell me?" Why didn't you trust me?

His gentle voice, the hurt in it, threatened to bring her to tears for the first time that night. "Because I didn't want to think about it around you. You're kinda perfect, you know, you and school and everything. I just wanted to pretend it was always like that. I'm sorry."

"I understand." Magical thinking, part of his mind thought, intellectual ability at the expense of psycho-social development, the intellect can run five years ahead or more, but some aspects of maturity can run up to two years behind. A very real part of her was still a bit of a little kid. But he could say the same. He stepped right up to the edge of the gurney, lowered the rail so it wasn't between them, was not going to presume at all. "Do you know what happens now?"

Gwen slowly wrapped her arms around his waist, leaned into him. It felt better that way, the room stopped spinning and everything felt safer, warmer. "They're waiting for the social worker. Seventy-two hours, they said, to talk things over with Mom. But that's not going to happen, so I'm going into foster care." She took a deep breath and squeezed him a little tighter. "I don't know when I'll be back at school."

He wrapped his arms around her and held on tight. It was almost punishing her for being the victim, he thought, or punishing him for caring about her. "I hadn't thought of that. But you'll be back, though, when you turn eighteen if not before."

She moaned a little. "Yeah, but that's thirteen months away." An eternity, she thought, how can I make it without him to talk to?

He sighed in agreement. Thirteen hours seemed too long to him right now, with her like this. Without letting go he crouched down so he could look in her eyes. "You're right, that's too long. I'll have to find you."

She closed her eyes as hope began to ease its way back into her heart, rested her forehead against his. "You're my hero, you know. Do you promise?"

"I promise. I love you Gwen, I am not letting you go."

Gwen had just enough time to whisper "I love you" against his lips when the door opened and the curtain rattled back. "Let me guess, boyfriend," said the nurse standing there. She looked at Spencer and pointed to the door, "Out."

**Now**

Morgan didn't mean to be up at that hour, but something woke him. He stepped out to the vending machine for some ice and heard mournful music coming from under the door. Maybe the kid broke up with that girl, he thought, just his luck. He thought about knocking but, nah, he'd say something tomorrow if the kid was still in a funk

_In darkness let me dwell; the ground shall sorrow be,  
The roof despair, to bar all cheerful light from me;  
The walls of marble black, that moist'ned still shall weep;  
My music, hellish jarring sounds, to banish friendly sleep.  
Thus, wedded to my woes, and bedded in my tomb,  
O let me dying live, till death doth come, till death doth come._

In darkness let me dwell

Spencer lay back and listened to the mournful ballad. The lyrics were anonymous, but dated from the same time as John Dowland's music, sometime around 1610. It suited the Witching hour, and his mood. He let it play as he rolled over, and wondered if he would ever be her hero.


	5. Chapter 5

**The Drug**

**Now**

Dilaudid. He didn't want it. He begged Tobias not to stick that needle in his arm. It was hard enough keeping it together in this situation without the drug. But the needle had gone in, over and over again.

He was remembering his mother, thanks to the drugs in his system.

He didn't want to remember his mother.

He wanted to remember something else.

**Then**

It took Spencer four months to track her down. It seemed like every time he found her foster family "that little smartass/pain in the ass/bitch" had been moved on and no one was telling him where. It appeared that while only a few people had actually become violent most were uncomfortable around someone that much more intelligent, or that far off the scale of normal. It wasn't that she begged to be a target, he thought, but her intelligence combined with her small stature combined with her beauty just made for a target that begged to be brought down. It was only going to get worse as she got older, he thought.

Spencer also considered it a sign of his growing maturity when he traded his entire Star Trek memorabilia collection, including his treasured DeForrest Kelly autograph, to a friend in the computer science department in exchange for hacking the DSS computer system to get her current address.

As far as neighborhoods went it wasn't bad, working class, quiet, not far from just about every kind of school. And Nadine and Frank were the best foster parents Gwen had encountered to date, meaning that they pretty much left her alone, and were willing to let her return to CalTech as soon as the next semester started up again. They even arranged transportation, which was huge. The only problem was that this was a group home; there were ten kids here, all with various kinds of issues, all nearly impossible to control. She was hiding from the constant chaos on the front porch when she heard the gate open. Looking up, she saw a tall, slender, utterly familiar figure grinning at her. "Spencer!" She flew off the porch and into his arms.

"I told you I'd track you down," He picked her up and held her tightly. She didn't feel quite right, she felt off. Wrong. Not what he remembered. She was trembling and there were dark smudges under her eyes. When he looked he realized that her arms were too thin, her collar bone too prominent. Weight she did not need to lose. "Are you okay? Have you been okay?"

"No. Well, yes. I mean…." It had never been easy for her to talk. As easy as reading, as writing, as math had been actually putting those thoughts into speech had never been a simple thing. But now it seemed ten times harder than ever before. "Nadine and F-f-frank are good people, really. I mean they try, but there's only so much money to buy food here and they do their best but you c-c-can taste the chemicals, you know, in all of it and when I can eat it I just get so sick sometimes." Reflexively she rubbed her abdomen where the ghosts of that day's cramps still lingered. "I n-never thought I'd miss cafeteria food at all but I do. I do. I do. And there are so many kids here and they always have the TV on so it's never, never quiet, not even at night really and I have to share a room and…" She was babbling and she knew it. Her nerves felt raw, like someone had been going over her with sandpaper, and when one of the kids playing in the yard screamed she jumped and buried herself into his chest.

"Shhh, it's okay. Think they'd mind if we sat on the porch?" The head tucked into his rib cage shook a negative, so he guided her over and pulled her in to sit next to him a while. He reached up to rub the back of her neck and the tops of her shoulders, an area she tended to rub herself when she was at all nervous, so he guessed it might help calm her down a bit. "At least you're not getting beat up here. I don't have to worry about that. What is that smell?"

"No. No. They're real good about that. Um, it might be me." The house smelled like kids in puberty and kids in pull-ups, Nair and cheap cologne and cleansers and old cooking, a sour, rancid cloying mixture that simply refused to go away. She tried to open windows, but they were always closed behind her. Now it was in her clothing and her hair, no matter how tightly she kept it braided. "You c-can't lock the doors in there, even the bathroom door so there's no, no real good time to shower." She wasn't going to get naked in there unless she absolutely had to. Was. Not. Most of the time she could barely use the toilet without someone trying to come in, either because they wanted to tease or they simply were incapable of knowing better. She washed up under her clothes in stages as best she could and changed under the covers late at night, but she felt foul.

"Ew." This was an outstanding home, as far as these places went. He'd looked at all the reports, and they were all glowing. But it wasn't the best situation for a girl with Asperger's, or for the girl he loved. "Well, the semester starts back in two weeks, you can use the showers at the gym then."

"Do, do they even have showers at the gym? Is, is, is it one of those big, open rooms?" She rather thought that might be worse.

"Nope, separate stalls. With a changing area. Not exactly the best, but no one breaks in and bothers you."

"How do you know?"

"I've been going every morning. Running, lifting weights. I'm even taking some classes."

"I th-th-thought you felt different." He did. He wasn't bigger, just firmer somehow. Harder. She looked up to trace the new lines of tendon and muscle that were starting to stand out on his arms, "Why?"

"If I'm going to be your knight in shining armor I have to be able to do the job, don't I?"

**Now**

"Choose who lives and who dies."

He couldn't. He couldn't choose. He couldn't go on. He was so tired. I'm sorry, he thought, I'm so sorry. "Kill me." He looked up as Raphael loaded the gun with exactly one bullet, spun the chamber and pointed it at his head. I'm sorry. Oh Gwen, I can't. I'm sorry.

Later he would consider that that flash of brilliance might have been telepathy. She might have helped him after all.

**Then**

She thought about that a moment. "My knight. That's nice. Does, does this mean we're a couple?"

"I asked Ethan, turns out we've been a couple for a while now." Somehow that had upset his friend and rival. Spencer had no idea why. "Um, actually I have an idea along those lines."

"What?" Just then one of the other kids came running out, a charming boy of all of five or six, all dark brown curls and a sweet smile, carrying some kind of ice cream treat. He grinned at them, babbled something while holding up his treasure. "No, no, thank you, we don't want any." She managed, just before some of the ice cream dropped on her arm and she went rigid. "Oh, fuck. Sonofabitch."

"What's wrong?" One moment some kid was telling them someone named Nadine wanted to know if they wanted ice cream, the next minute Gwen was trembling and muttering curses under her breath. He could only follow her as she got up and went to the garden spigot to thoroughly rinse the ice cream from her arm. After a moment it clicked in. "Sensory processing problems?" He grinned down at her.

"Oh hush, you. Who wears a pocket watch these days." She rinsed and rubbed until the offending substance was gone. The bruises Tommy had left rarely actually hurt, for all that they were so obvious, and she never minded heat, preferred the shower hot enough to turn her lobster-red, but she didn't like cold at all and getting something on her skin that she did not deliberately put there, or anything sticky, and she went into instant overload. "The best description I ever heard was that it's like the feeling neurotypicals get when someone runs fingernails over a chalkboard. Ahhh, it's horrid. I can't stand it. Uh. And everything here is sticky. Children are always sticky. Ugh." Finally she shut off the tap and stood up. "Now, what were you asking me?"

"Well, first off, don't be upset, but I got that teaching position. The one that you wanted." It was in mathematics, he'd be teaching undergrads, but you had to start somewhere. He just hoped she wouldn't be too mad about losing the slot.

Gwen just sighed and smiled. "It's, it's not like the county was going to let me emancipate anyway. Or like I would get it after missing the deadlines this term. I'll get the next one, you watch. In the meantime I'm glad it was you. You, you deserve it."

"Thank you. But, you know, I took the position for a reason. And I know there are things you're not ready for, and that's okay, I'll just sleep on the couch."

"What?" For the first time he had managed to utterly lose her.

Spencer started again. "Look, these past few months have been miserable. I don't think I can do that again."

"You won't have to, I d-don't think."

"It's the don't think part that worries me." Spencer took a deep breath. "Gwen, would you marry me?"

The entire world seemed to stop for a long moment and hold its breath. "What? What? I'm…I'm not old enough yet."

"I know. When you turn eighteen, I mean. We can go to Vegas for your birthday."

"We can't afford it. C-can we?"

"I think we can. I'll have a job and one of the faculty apartments. And you're sure to get the next opening. And I have a fake ID."

"So?"

"So I know a guy in Vegas who'll trade in chips from any casino, no questions asked. And the pit bosses don't bother to check as long as you don't win more than five hundred. So money's not a problem." He couldn't wait to teach her to play 21, she was going to love the game. It was so easy to win.

Oh. She blinked at him a long moment. "Spencer, I don't think I'm ready to…to…." She turned pink and couldn't go on. And if she was too embarrassed to talk about sex, real sex, then she certainly wasn't ready to do it yet.

"Like I said, I'll sleep on the couch. It folds out. We can, I don't know, start with silver rings and get married in stages. When you're ready to…well….we'll move up to gold. I just don't want to lose you. I want you in my life." I can't, he thought. I can't lose you again. I don't think I could live through that.

Oh. "Oh." Now it made sense. The world was still holding its breath. For once nothing at all echoed in the cavernous space between her ears. For once she could only hear the faint whispers of her heart. "Yes."

**Now**

"I'm not strong enough" he lied, which gave him the chance at the gun. He'd later, much later, consider having the one shot in the right position a sign.

Before they left he stood over the corpse of a dead man. He didn't feel guilty after all. They thought he did. But he didn't.

He had to live.

But when he slipped the vials of drugs from the dead man's pocket, the drugs that would take away his pain, he felt guilty as all hell.


	6. Chapter 6

**The Music, Pt 2.**

**Now**

"John Coltrane. Died of cancer, but most people think it's the booze and heroin that did him in."

Spencer looked across at his old friend Ethan. He didn't know why he called him, why he'd suddenly decided to contact someone from back then. Maybe I wanted to believe something might have been different. Maybe I can't keep doing this. "Are you trying to say something to me?"

"You look like hell."

"I'm fine."

"Reid, I'm a jazz musician in New Orleans. I know what it looks like when someone's not well. This may be the only time I can tell you something you don't already know. It may help you forget, but it won't make it go away. And if _I_ can tell... You're surrounded by some of the best minds in the world. If you think they don't notice…" his hand trembled in the air a moment, "Well, for a genius, that's just dumb. Man, you got to let her go."

"I said I'm fine."

Ethan sat back and watched him for a long moment. "I finished the last verse you know, of that song I wrote you. Wanna hear it?"

Oh, fuck. "No, not really."

"Awww, that's too bad." Spencer watched as Ethan stepped over to the small stage area and spoke to the band. Fuck. Bastard. Why did he come here? Spencer got up and went to the bar. He traded in his small brandy for a bottle of whatever was closest and could be had for the cash in his pockets.

Spencer took his first pull on the bottle as Ethan started singing:

_Baby I've been searching like everybody else  
Can't say nothing different about myself  
Sometimes I'm an angel  
And sometimes I'm cruel  
And when it comes to love  
I'm just another fool_

**Then**

After twenty years as a profiler Jason Gideon thought he would never be surprised. He'd read the background file on the man he was trying to recruit. IQ of 187, gifted and talented, college at twelve, marriage at eighteen, three doctorates by now, just barely popped on the Autistic Spectrum Disorders Scale, eidetic memory, reads 20,000 words a minute. He knew who he was here to meet, a geek, a nerd, a man-child who had never faced the world outside of academia. He knew exactly what he was here to see. Which was why he hadn't paid any attention to the man he'd seen running earlier as he got out of the cab and made his way into the housing complex, not until he heard footsteps behind him, the sound of someone breathing hard, a voice asking if he could help him.

Gideon turned and looked over the man standing there. He was tall, his brown hair worn longer than was fashionable and currently soaked in sweat, as were the old t-shirt and shorts he was wearing that all but cried out gym clothes. An ectomorph Gideon realized, not a mesomorph like Morgan. This body will burn off everything you put in it, get stronger and harder without putting on any bulk. Morgan didn't have a chance of hiding his strength under his clothing, but this guy could put on a suit and you'd never know. He looked into the stranger's eyes, or tried to. He's not quite making eye contact, Gideon realized, and his shirt is inside out and there's a cloth band under his watch. "Hi. I'm looking for Dr. Spencer Reid."

"I'm Dr. Reid, how can I help you?" Spencer looked over the older man standing in front of his door. A little nervous, he thought, but not because of me, he's just like that; hyperaware of his surroundings. Possibly PTSD, but he doesn't look like a military type. Still, there's something there; law enforcement, maybe, but…ah, yes.

"I'm Jason Gideon. I'm with the FBI Behavior Analysis Unit. I wrote to you before."

"You're persistent." Spencer sighed and walked past him to open the door to the small apartment, and looked back with the grin of a boy. "I'm sorry Agent Gideon, I can't move to DC right now. I'm going to be married by the end of the term."

**Now**

_Yes, I'll climb a mountain  
I'm gonna swim the sea  
There ain't no act of God girl  
Could keep you safe from me  
My arms are reaching out  
Out across this canyon  
I'm asking you to be my true companion  
True companion  
True companion_

Spencer leaned back against the bar as he guzzled the bottle, challenging his so-called friend to bring on his worst. That was where Gideon found him.

**Then**

They were walking up the steps of Sloan hall on the first day of the term when they were stopped by three elderly professors. The three gentlemen blocked their path, saying nothing, smiling gently for a long moment until the eldest, Dr. Green stepped forward. "We would like to see if it is true."

Spencer was mystified, but Gwen took a guess and lifted her hand. Spencer had had the ring made by a friend in the materials engineering department who tinkered with jewelry design as a hobby. It was a slender, hand hammered band of a pale gold, with a tiny, perfectly cut diamond mounted in the center. Dr. Green held her hand lightly so the others could see, and they all sighed in perfect contentment.

"Dr. Ryder, Dr. Reid tells us that you plan to travel to Las Vegas on your birthday, and take your vows there. Is this true?"

Gwen smiled at Dr. Green's formality. "Yes, sir, that's the plan so far."

"And this is so Dr. Reid's family may attend?"

Spencer coughed. "Um, no, I'm afraid my mother is too ill to attend the wedding."

"So you are planning to do this for the sake of expediency?"

"Yes Sir."

Dr. Green shot Spencer an offended look. "This is unacceptable." He turned back to Gwen with a gentle smile. "You must marry here. We shall make use of The Athenaeum. The courtyard there is ideal for the purpose."

Gwen turned pink at the announcement. "Oh, sir, we can't afford…."

"Nonsense, the Mathematics department shall host. We shall, as they say, pass the hat. You are both family after all." Dr. Green looked up to a figure coming up the steps behind the couple. "What is your opinion Dr. Weir?"

"Of?" Dr. Mark Weir was the new chair of the Mathematics department, recently from MIT. He was tall and dignified in a dark suit, even in the California spring. He nodded to the other professors until his eye was caught by the girl in front of him. "And this is?"

"Ah, I apologize for my manners. You know Dr. Reid, surely." Spencer nodded as Dr. Green made the introductions; they had met during the hiring process. "And this is Dr. Gwendolyn Ryder, who has recently returned to us after an unfortunate break in her studies. She is his fiancée." Dr. Green tasted the word as if it was a fine wine that met his approval. "We were discussing the Mathematics department hosting their wedding at The Athenaeum toward the end of the term; a passing of the hat, as they say."

"Dr. Ryder." He took the girl's hand and bowed over it slightly with a smile, just perfect. "I think it's a brilliant idea. Let me know what I can do to assist."

Gwen and Spencer made pleased noises, that they shouldn't, that it was too much, that really it wasn't necessary. Dr. Green hushed them. "We are old men, all of us, and what families we have are far away. Allow us to enjoy our romance by proxy. Please."

Helpless in the face of such a request and in the merriment in the eyes of the other two professors, who had yet to say a word, Gwen and Spencer looked at each other and nodded. It looked like they were having a wedding.

**Now**

_So don't you dare and try to walk away  
I've got my heart set on our wedding day  
I've got this vision of a girl in white  
Made my decision that it's you all right_

"You know this is not helpful, right? You know you're fucking up." Jason told his friend.

The harsh alcohol burned the back of his throat, lit his belly on fire. Spencer had no idea what it would do when it hit the drug in his system. And at the moment, he really didn't care. He could see how she'd looked on that day….

**Then**

On her eighteenth birthday Gwen packed her bags for the last time. As of today DSS would no longer pay her room and board, and her bed was already slated to be filled by a new child by nightfall. She hugged Nadine and Frank good-bye for now, told them she'd see them at the wedding, and boarded the transport bus for the University. Once there she climbed the steps to The Athenaeum, the Greek revival style mansion that held the faculty club. The faculty had offered her one of the greatest honors they could bestow upon a guest or member.

She was staying in Albert Einstein's old room for three whole nights, including their wedding night.

It was completely silent on the second floor at that hour. She dropped her backpack and old duffle bag just inside the door and made a slow turn of the room. Her fingers drifted gently over the wood paneling, the soft velvet of the furniture, the post of the big bed. It smelled of furniture wax and potpourri and the lavender jacaranda trees blooming outside the window, clean and good.

She'd dreamed of places like this.

In the center of the bed were two large suitcases. On one of them was a note. She slid the card from the envelope and read:

_Consider this my birthday and wedding gift to you. Just leave your old stuff out in the hall for disposal. _

_Join me for breakfast. I'll wait._

_- S_

Gwen opened the luggage and took a big, deep breath. She'd never seen clothing so lovely, or that felt so, so soft. The pieces were all in the gentle colors of a garden, ivory and pink, lavender and soft blues, silk and cotton and lace and some printed with flowers. She lifted one item out, and realized she was holding her first skirt, ever, and that it would be light and soft against her legs and flutter around her ankles like butterflies.

She sat on the edge of the bed where Einstein once slept, and quietly sobbed into the fine silk. He remembered. He understood. He wanted her to live outside the confines of her own mind. She loved him for that. Soul mates, she realized, this is what that means.

She tossed her duffle bag out into the hall, gathered up the soaps and such, and headed for the bath.

**Now**

_And when I take your hand  
I'll watch my heart set sail  
I'll take my trembling fingers  
And I'll lift up your veil_

The fire reignited as he took another gulp. He could remember her, all in white, her arms full of roses. Ethan sang this song for the first dance, his wedding gift to them. It had been a perfect day. The first of day of a perfect life….

**Then**

Sunday morning, years later. The apartment was near silent. Spencer was sitting on the floor, his back against the couch, an open book balanced against his knees, a mug of tea at hand.

Gwen was lying on the couch, utterly entranced by the pattern of light coming through the window lace. Why didn't anyone else stop to look at such things? It's such a simple thing, but so beautiful. She reached out to run her fingers along the muscle in her husband's arm, savoring the texture of skin over muscle, the heat of the sun on her flesh, the brilliance in her eyes, filling her. "What are you reading?"

"A book by David Rossi; it's about one of the BAU's earliest cases."

"Is that one of the one's Jason suggested?" She smiled at the memory of their friend's last visit, as her eyes were caught by the shimmer of a moving branch outside, opal green in the light.

"Yeah, it is." Spencer took up the hand that was offered; brought it to his lips so he could just taste the pulse beating beneath the silken wrist, savor the scent of her mixed with the earlier scent of breakfast in the air; cinnamon, roses, vanilla, warm, open skin.

Gwen all but purred at the gentle touch, then turned to drape her other arm around his other shoulder, slow, lazy, and gentle. "You want to go, don't you?"

"I do. I think I could do something good there. I might be able to help people."

"That and you want to work with Jason. I don't blame you at all." She leaned in to kiss his shoulder through his shirt, her eyes drawn to the patterns of light dancing again. "I wonder what the light will look like on the snow."

**Now**

Jason looked over at the younger man; saw that his face was wet. His voice was remarkably gentle "You giving up? Want me to tell Hotch you resign?"

Spencer raised the bottle to his lips again.

**Then**

Usually when Spencer went in to shower and dress Gwen gave up the bedroom so he could have some privacy. But lately she'd been feeling rather odd about things, strange. The other day while he was up on a ladder changing a light bulb she'd found herself utterly entranced by the way his body moved under the thin cotton of his t-shirt and sweats. What ought to have been the foul stench of him fresh from the gym had turned into something spicy and rich, a scent she was coming to crave in the morning. And the other night while he cooked dinner she'd found herself watching his hands, the way they looked with his sleeves rolled up, how his long fingers moved when he worked. She'd felt her pulse speed up, and a heaviness in her belly and flushed so warm that he'd noticed and asked her if she felt all right.

Later that night, she'd lain in bed and stared at the moving shadows on the ceiling. She was trying to imagine how it might feel if instead of those long fingers rubbing her neck or the inside of her wrist, if instead he tried touching her in other places. She had to believe that it might feel better than when she ran her own hands over her skin. And what if, while he was kissing her, he lay on top of her, let her take his weight? And what if he tried to …..

Desire, her therapist had said; sexual awakening; her feelings finally catching up to her body and her mind. Go tell him, she'd said. Tell him what you're thinking and feeling. You already know it's safe to bring these things to him, go enjoy them with him.

Gwen gently eased the bathroom door open more than the crack that let the steam vent. He was standing at the sink, his sweat pants hanging off his hips, damp from his shower, brushing his teeth. It was the first time she'd ever seen him without his shirt, the first time she'd seen the way the light played over lines of muscle and bone. She wondered what it would feel like. Would the skin be softer for being covered so much? Would the muscles be harder than those in his arms? Her eyes traced the cut of his hips, those lines that curved over and down beneath the waistband and found herself curious and wanting very much….

Spencer looked up to see his wife standing there in her nightgown, watching him in the mirror. He bent over, spit, rinsed and asked, "What are you doing?"

"I…I think I'm having a female mammal moment. You're amazing."

'Thanks." On the one hand, it was good to know she approved. But could that possibly mean… "Um, want to do anything about it?"

"Yeah, I think I do."

Now she had his full attention. In one heartbeat she was in his arms, in the next he was gently laying her on the bed and covering her with his body. "If you want me to stop tell me," was all he could get out before she was finding his lips with hers.

It was better than she expected. Not as gentle, as lazy, but the very urgency was intoxicating. The feel of him pressing her into the featherbed was enough to make her head spin. "Okay. Don't stop." She gasped as that busy mouth found that nerve cluster just under her ear and someone poured liquid heat through her soul. It was so much that her head was buzzing; no, not her head. "What is that?"

"Campus fire alarm." She smelled of spice and roses and tasted soft and sweet and he didn't want to stop touching her at all, ever. His hand moved up her torso to cup one soft, perfect silk-covered mound that just fit his palm, a move that rewarded him with a moan and an arch of her back as she offered herself to him. "It's not this building. God." He pressed a kiss to her collar bone, and then one lower down.

If this is desire, she thought, then I want more. She wrapped her legs around his hips to anchor herself as his lips found that hard point through the silk and a wave of sunshine heat claimed her. She rode it, fingers tangling in his hair to keep him there, until it subsided and she could breathe again. Her hearing returned just in time to hear someone yelling outside….

**Now**

_Then I'll take you home  
And with wild abandon  
Make love to you just like a true companion  
You are my true companion  
I got a true companion  
True companion_

It wasn't sex, he thought. She was never ready to go all the way. But it was good, what we had. It was everything I ever wanted and more, until the end.

_When the years have done irreparable harm  
I can see us walking slowly arm in arm  
Just like the couple on the corner do  
'cause girl I will always be in love with you_

Ethan looked over at Spencer. This last verse had not been part of the song on their wedding day. He wanted to make sure his friend heard it now.

_  
And when I look in your eyes  
I'll still see that spark  
Until the shadows fall  
Until the room grows dark  
Then when I leave this earth  
I'll be with the angels standin'  
I'll be out there waiting for my true companion  
Just for my true companion  
True companion  
True companion_

Spencer slammed the half-empty bottle onto the bar and let the last notes chase him out of the bar.

Ethan came down off the stage and went to follow but Jason Gideon was between him and the door. "That wasn't exactly helpful, you know."

"You haven't exactly been helpful either, old man. Get the fuck out of my way"

--------

Reid stood at the river and looked out of the ruin that was New Orleans. Just like everything, he thought, just like my life. He felt Ethan coming up beside him, wanted to speak, to tell him to go to hell, to ask him why he had to open up the wound Hankel taught him to close but words failed him. All he could do was throw back his head and howl out the pain.

Then he found the vials in his pocket and started flinging them into the river.

Ethan caught the last one. "Nope. Keep it until your business here is done. Then tell the old man back there that you need some time to get it together. I'll get you through the detox."

Spencer turned to look at him in shock. "Why?"

Ethan just shook his head and smiled. "Because you dumb, lucky sonofabitch, I loved her too."

------

Later that night Spencer sat in the bar listening to Ethan play lousy lounge music. He was already starting to feel the ache of the drugs leaving his bones. He looked up when Gideon sat down next to him. "How did you find me?"

"You're not all that hard to profile." Gideon looked over at the younger man, "Your friend is good."

Spencer nodded in agreement and listened a while. "I missed that plane on purpose."

"I know."

"I'm struggling." With this. With all this.

"Well, anybody who's been through what you've been through would."

"This is all I was going for. I never even considered another option." Another way out of this, Spencer thought. I never even considered that there might be such a thing.

"And now you're questioning whether or not you're strong enough to be here." Jason watched his young friend. He knew this would happen sooner or later.

"Yeah," Spencer nodded, over and over again. I am not strong enough. I do not think I can keep doing this.

"I have been playing at this job in one way or another for almost thirty years. I felt lost, I felt great. I have felt scared, sick, insane." Gideon shook his head. "I don't know. I guess the day this job stops gnawing at your soul and your hand…your hands stop feeling cold…" He shrugged, "…maybe that's the time to leave."

"I guess…I guess I just needed to needed to try to figure out if I could step away from this job." If I could give up, move on. Say good-bye.

"And?"

Spencer sighed. "I'll never miss a plane again."

------

**Note**: Lyrics to _True Companion_ by Marc Cohen. Some dialog from the show "Criminal Minds" episode 2:18 'Jones'. No copyright infringement intended to either party.


	7. Chapter 7

**The Sickness**

**Now**

Reid stood in the underground lab, trying to make sense of the notes in front of him. I'm not going to make it, he thought. I'm going to die here. After all the hard work breaking my addiction, after having to go it alone when Gideon left, after four fucking years, now I'm going to die here. And I can't even fucking say good-bye. I don't know if I dare take that risk.

As the day wore on and there was nothing he finally decided he had to. He couldn't just let go. And so when Morgan stepped away from the door he called Garcia again.

"Hey Reid." The usually bubbly woman sounded horribly.

"Hey. I'm still…I'm still okay. Listen I need…I need you to record something else for me."

"Something else for your Mom?" Garcia pulled up the recording program again.

"No. I need…if I don't make it I need you to get this to Gideon, okay? I know we're supposed to respect his privacy and leave him alone, but if anyone can find him you can and I need…I need you to get this to him, all right? He'll know what to do."

Gideon, Garcia thought, he's saying good bye to his dad. "Okay, I'll find him. Go ahead."

Reid turned his back to the door and let the mask he wore for the world fall. When Garcia heard him again the quavering voice of the boy was gone. In its place was the voice of a man, one who wasn't bothering to hide his feelings this time. "Gwen, I want you to know that I never stopped. I was there every day for you, every day. And if you're hearing this, that means you're okay, and I just wish I was there holding your hand one more time. I love you, and I always will." He heard a noise behind him, put his mask back into place and turned toward the door. "Garcia I have to go."

"Wait!" Garcia called out after him, but the phone had already clicked off. "Who's Gwen? Who's Gwen?" What? What? She took a deep breath. "Okay Penelope, get a grip. He can't answer you if he's dead." She popped open a search program and instructed it to go looking for the name "Gwen", or any variations, in connection with Dr. Spencer Reid. Then she threw it into the background and promptly forgot it was there. She had to make sure he lived to explain who Gwen was and why she'd never heard the name before.

------

"Go help Hotch." Oh, this sucks, Spencer thought, this sucks big time.

"Hotch has plenty of people helping him." Morgan frowned as he looked over his friend.

"They need you more than I do."

"Reid, I'm gonna see you off to the hospital."

"I'm about to get naked, so they can scrub me down. Is that something you really want to see?" Please take the hint, Morgan, please take the hint.

Morgan took the hint. "I'll check on you later." He looked over at Dr. Kimura. "Take good care of him please."

Dr. Kimura watched the larger man leave before turning to Dr. Reid. "I hope you're right about this."

"So do I." Spencer started pulling off his clothes. I wanted Gwen to be the first woman I voluntarily stripped for, he thought, the first to see what I built for her. Oh well.

Dr. Kimura watched, noticed something. "Dr. Reid, did you cut yourself?"

Spencer looked at the small nick on his hand. Roses, it would be roses. There was something poetic in living and dying by roses. Maybe she's trying to tell me something. Maybe she's waiting….He took a deep breath. "Keep going."

A moment later Dr. Kimura looked back, found herself looking at an unexpectedly chiseled form. "You didn't need to send your friend away you know. It might not be proper to point it out, but you have nothing to be ashamed of."

"Yeah, well…" Morgan didn't need to know that, Reid thought. "Go ahead." He held his arms out so they could start scrubbing.

"That too, please," Dr. Kimura pointed to the silver ring hanging from the cord around his neck.

Spencer sighed. Of course, "Sorry," he pulled and the cord snapped and he handed it over with everything else.

-------

Morgan stepped out of the hospital into the afternoon sunlight. Reid was going to be all right. He was still sick as a dog, clearly, but he was awake and begging for more jell-o. This had to be a good sign; things were going to be okay.

Now he just had to get his baby girl cheered back up to her usual self. He flipped open his phone and hit the first number on speed dial. "Hey sweetheart, now that everything is a-okay how about dinner tonight?"

"No, it's not. It is not okay," came the usually sweet voice. Something had wired her right back up top where she'd been while Reid was in danger. "It is so not okay. Just get into the office, please, you have to see this."

Instantly Morgan was on high alert. Garcia never got that upset unless one of their own was in trouble, "On my way."

It seemed like mere moments before Morgan was striding his way down the hallway to Garcia's lair. On the way he crossed paths with Hotch, who noticed how upset his teammate appeared to be. "What's going on?"

"I don't know. But something's got Garcia going." Hotch fell in beside him, was right there when he walked in to the computer room. It looked like Garcia had a case spread out over the monitors, police reports, evidence photos; and in the center a picture of a girl with dark hair and…"Damm, those eyes."

"They're hyperchromic, it's a rare mutation." Hotch leaned in over Garcia's shoulder, to try to make sense of what she was seeing. "Garcia, who is that."

Garcia was shocked, pale, almost in tears. "That's Reid's wife."

**Then**

If this is desire, Gwen thought, then I want more. She wrapped her legs around his hips to anchor herself as his lips found that hard point through the silk and a wave of sunshine heat claimed her. She rode it, fingers tangling in his hair to keep him there, until it subsided and she could breathe again. Her hearing returned just in time to hear someone yelling outside "Sloan hall is on fire! Sloan hall is on fire!" That drew a broken sound from her throat. Their offices, all their work, years of research, but she didn't want to stop…

Neither did he, but he knew what she was thinking. He was thinking the same thing, but they had years to play together. They had forever, but all their work could be gone in a few minutes. He looked down at her, those blue eyes wide with wonder and passion. "I'll go. You stay here." Crowds and noise and he knew what that would do to her. "I'm sure it's just a trash fire or something, just a prank but I'll go check. You stay here and keep thinking what you're thinking. I'll be right back." He tore himself away from her arms, found shoes and shirt and wallet before claiming one more kiss.

Oh, she didn't want him to go. It was paper, did it really matter? "Be careful. I love you." One more kiss and he called out I love you too as he ran out the door. She rolled over onto her back and watched the light on the ceiling dance as she felt the tingling in her body, the slow cramp of heat as she thought about what would happen when he came back. A few minutes later she heard the door open and smiled up at the light. "Just a joke then?" She rolled over to face the door…

------

Sloan hall was in fact on fire. Someone had started a fire in a storeroom, which burned the store of printer toner, which spread a noxious black smoke throughout the building. But it was the other end of the large building, their offices were safe. Spencer was turning to jog back to his apartment when he realized that Jason Gideon was standing behind him.

"Someone's idea of a prank?" The older man asked.

"I guess so. I'm afraid we can't have you for…." The words died in Spencer's throat when he saw the plume of smoke rising from the direction of the housing unit, heard the other alarm go off. "Oh no."

Gideon followed Spencer at a dead run back toward the apartment house. By the time they got there smoke was pouring out of the windows at the far end, smoke that was engulfing the rest of the old, dry, wood-framed building. The apartment door was hanging open, the furniture seen through the doorway knocked over. He just caught Spencer as he tried to plunge into the smoky unit, used all his strength to hold the younger man back as he screamed his wife's name over and over again.

**Now**

Reid was exhausted. It wasn't just beating off the anthrax; it was having to keep his mask up for all this time. He could barely get to the bathroom on his own, let alone have a chance to truly relax. Even though he knew he was still fairly sick he was considering checking out against orders, just to he could go to his apartment and unwind.

On the other hand, they had very good jell-o.

Morgan stormed into Reid's room, all but slammed he door behind him, and flung the file he carried into Reid's lap. It fell open to the picture of the pretty brunette with the cobalt blue eyes. Morgan watched as his friend froze, and simultaneously seemed to almost ripple and change before his eyes. I've seen unsubs do that, he realized, when they're caught and they know it and the drop the pretense of normal. When his friend looked up at him the puppy dog boy was gone. It was replaced by a man, one who was worn, almost broken under the weight of what he carried. Morgan's anger died in his throat. "Reid, why didn't you tell me?"

"I wanted to, about a thousand times. It was Gideon's idea…."

**Then**

"This is never going to work." Reid called out from the bathroom. "These people are trained observers, you said so yourself."

Jason Gideon paced slowly around the hotel room. They didn't have that much time before they were supposed to show up at the BAU, so he could introduce the newest recruit. Spencer needed to hurry up in there. "I told you before; they are trained to look for flaws, mistakes, breaks in the pattern. They're expecting a geek, a nerd, a social misfit, some overgrown child who's never had to deal with anything more trying than getting his papers in on time." Not a man who spent the first twelve years of his life being tormented by his peers and caring for a paranoid schizophrenic. Not a man who committed his own mother to an asylum when he was eighteen. Not a man who rescued the woman he loved from the foster care system only to have her kidnapped right out of their marriage bed. Not a man. "So long as you fit that profile they won't even notice you."

Spencer finally stepped out of the bathroom so that Gideon could look him over with expert eyes. His pants were too big, were clearly being held on by his belt alone, which hid the muscles in his legs. His shirt was plaid and loud and also a size too big and with an undershirt underneath the condition of his torso was effectively blurred. His hair was combed back and held there with gel, and thick glasses replaced his usual contacts. The only thing he was missing was the pocket protector; it would have been a bit over the top. He had practiced schooling his face until his expression was a mixture of overconfidence and puppy dog eagerness. In addition he was twitching like he had fleas. "What's with the twitch?" Gideon asked.

"I wanted to hyper stimulate my nervous system, to bring out the autistic tendencies. So I put hot glue on the seams of my shirt to make them more irritating, and I've had three cups of red eye Americano coffee this morning with triple sugar in all of them." Between the constant light scratching and the sugar and caffeine high he was almost shaking like a tree in a strong wind. "Did you know that the story of Kaldi, the 9th-century Ethiopian goatherd who according to legend discovered coffee when his goats got high after eating some beans, did not appear in writing until 1671 and is probably apocryphal? The earliest credible evidence of either coffee drinking or knowledge of the coffee tree appears in the middle of the fifteenth century; in the Sufi monasteries around the village of Mokha in the area now know as Yemen…" *

Gideon let Reid babble for a few moments and then stopped him. "It's perfect. They'll never know. Now we'll give it a few weeks for you to settle in and then we'll start combing the records. Every bit of evidence from every crime in the country can come into that office; all we'll have to do is fill out the right paperwork. We can call it research for some obscure academic journal or something. Those bastards did something like this before, and if we can build a profile we can catch them when they do it again."

Spencer nodded his agreement, but something in that made him pause. "We? I thought you were retired from active duty."

"Yea, well, I like your wife, she's a good cook; makes great French toast. Let's go."

And then we can find her, Reid thought, as he followed his friend and now mentor out of the hotel room. Then we can bring her home.

**Now**

Hotch walked in just as Spencer was finishing his story. "You lied to us. You lied to the Bureau. You've been funneling resources away from this department to conduct your own investigation. I had Garcia go over your log in records. You've been doing it since your first day on the job. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't fire you and bring you up on charges right now."

Something inside Spencer snapped. "Fire me? I've spent nearly five years fighting the monsters right along with you. I almost died saving this country, this morning. And you want to fire me because I've been trying to help my wife? Go ahead, Hotch, fire me. Charge me. Do whatever you have to do." If he was about to get fired then there was no reason to stay in this bed. He got up and started looking for his pants. Any pants. "But tell me one thing, what would you have done, Hotch, if it was Haley that lost to the monsters out there? If she was taken right out of your bed one day and no one, not one person you thought you could trust stepped forward to help you!? What would you have done!?!" And someone was coming in and it was Emily and now they all saw Spencer Reid, quiet little non-Alpha male Spencer Reid standing tall and strong and angry and yelling at Hotch.

Hotch had been imagining exactly that the entire drive over here, ever since he read the file. The whole mess screamed cover up, not even an arson investigation, the little evidence taken accidentally destroyed in the forensics lab, the investigation closed almost as soon as it opened, and three weeks later the building, their home, leveled to make a parking lot. What would he have done? If he had come home and found Haley gone? "I would have done whatever I could, regardless of the cost." No, he could not blame Reid; Gideon, maybe, for not trusting them when he knew the team, but not Reid. He turned to Emily. "Unless something emergent comes up this is our main case from now on; Missing person, Gwen Ryder Reid." He picked up the file and passed it to the now very confused Emily. "Get Garcia and JJ to help you get started on it. I want everything we can get out of Pasadena PD. Don't take no for an answer. Morgan," Hotch turned to the larger man. "You get to work our witness." Which was what Reid was now, like it or not.

"Emily" Spencer called after her to stop her. He tried to reach the closet to grab his keys from but that outburst had taken all his energy. The world was spinning. Morgan had to help him sit back up in bed. "Take my keys, there's a better file in my desk at home, bottom left drawer. Gideon started the profile."

After Hotch and Emily left Morgan sat and turned to his friend. "Well kid, I've seen some family members do some crazy shit, but never so well for so long. Just tell me one thing, who was the hardest to fool?"

"Tobias Hankel." When Morgan laughed and groaned he replied "Hey, you asked. The only thing I couldn't fool was the Anthrax, I thought it was going to kill me. I'm guessing Penelope told you."

"Yeah, once she started a background check the whole thing came open. She said Gideon altered the first one the Bureau did, way back when. What I don't know is why."

"He didn't want everyone thinking I joined the team just to work on Gwen's case. He thought we'd have better luck if I could gain everyone's trust right off. And he figured that meant fulfilling expectations rather than setting up cognitive dissonance."

"Did you join the team just to work on the case?"

"Yes." There was no reason to lie any longer. "But I stayed past the first year for my friends."

Morgan nodded. "Well, you've proven yourself enough. I just wish you would have told me before."

"I'm sorry. It's hard to know when to end a lie like that."

"Yea, well, no more." He watched as Spencer nodded, then sat up a little higher as Dr. Kimura came in, bearing tray with extra jell-o.

"Here you go." The doctor smiled and put the tray on the table. "Oh, and we had to dispose of your clothing, but I was able to save this." She held up a silver ring in a small baggie. "Given the inscription I figured you'd want it back. We couldn't save the cord though."

Morgan turned to look at her, "Inscription?"

"Amor vincit omnia." Dr. Kimura smiled at his blank look. "It's Latin. Virgil, I believe. 'Love conquers all"

Spencer managed a smile, one of the brighter moments of the day. "Thank you very much. You don't need to worry about the cord." He slid it back on his finger. It was still a perfect fit.

Dr. Kimura watched, surprised. "Dr. Reid, I didn't know you were married."

"It's kind of a long story."

Morgan reached out and stole another cup of jell-o. "Okay kid, start at the beginning."

------

**Notes:** *Taken from the entry on "coffee" at Some dialog from the show "Criminal Minds" episode 4:24 'Amplification'. No copyright infringement intended to either party.


	8. Chapter 8

**The Funeral**

What would you do, Hotch, if it was Haley lost to the monsters? What would you do?

It was meant to be a rhetorical question.

I never wanted him to know.

I never wanted him to know.

------

**Here, Now**

Rossi watched as Spencer limped his way to a monument, sitting there to rub the pain out of his knee. A shot to the kneecap, and not a single narcotic, he thought, when are we going to stop referring to him as "the kid"? He made his way over there to see if the younger man was okay after escorting the coffin over the uneven ground, only to realize that Aaron Hotchner had had the same idea. "Are you all right?" He heard his old friend ask.

"Yes, thank you." Spencer kept working on a knot where the stitches were still buried. "I was honored that you asked me to be a pall bearer."

"You're welcome. Thank you for being here."

There was a long pause before Spencer looked up and looked Hotch straight in the eye. "Hotch…I'm sorry."

Hotch nodded. "I understand." After a moment he turned and headed toward the main group.

Rossi came over and sat next to Spencer. "You know, it's not my business, but that didn't sound like sympathy to me."

"It wasn't." Spencer kept rubbing and didn't look up.

Rossi found that he was mildly offended. After the revelations just a few weeks ago, who the hell did this kid think he was anyway? "You know, the man buried his wife today."

"I know he did." Spencer was unperturbed. "Now he knows where she is, where she'll always be. She's not in pain, she's not afraid, and the monsters will never hurt her again." He paused another long moment. "I'm sorry; Rossi, but I can't feel sympathy for Hotch right now. I envy him today."

Rossi watched as the kid got up and limped away.


	9. Chapter 9

**The Break**

**Here**

Five years, ten months, how the hell many days? He had just finished talking to Sarah, trying to make her feel better, to convince her that her son would be okay now that he was found, free. Charlie had been missing for over eight years now. The chances of him actually being okay, of being sane, were slim. Was he trying to convince her, or was he trying to convince myself, he thought. Was he just too tired to be doing this tonight?

He sat at his desk in the bullpen and tried to ignore the throbbing in his knee as he watched the families reunite or fracture all around him. Which will I be, he considered as he looked down at the pictures that now filled the spot where a rose had been. Which will I be?

**There**

There are very specific steps taken when the FDIC closes a bank. It's almost a ritual. Like a team of secret agents, the auditors arrive separately, travel alone, use fake names to check in, assemble at the bank in question a few minutes before closing on Friday. Their goal is to close the bank, secure all the funds, perform a thorough audit, and then turn the assets over to the bank assigned to handle the new accounts; in effect, to buy the bank and then sell it to another bank within 48 hours. No one is informed in advance to prevent a run on the bank, an event where everyone tries to take their money out at once, which is impossible and would only make it a thousand times more difficult to untangle an already troublesome mess. But when the two head auditors on the FDIC bank closure team and the California state auditor went in to the office of the president of the Golden State Bank and Trust in Santa Barbara to tell him that his bank had failed, they could immediately tell that something other than the state of the accounts was wrong.

"We're going to take over access of your computer systems in just a few moments."

"I understand." Tony Omera moved to shut down the laptop on his desk.

"Every computer, sir, please," they stepped closer.

"Oh, this is my personal laptop."

"Sir," it was clearly a warning.

"But it doesn't have any bank information on it, I swear." Up to now Mr. Omera had been calm and understanding. But now he was starting to sweat, the pitch of his voice was rising.

"All computers, sir, I'm sorry, you can have it back on Monday." One of the auditors, her heels tapping on the floor, came over and moved the laptop out of reach,

He almost screamed at that. "No! You bitch!" Tony Omera tried to push the two men out of the way, to wrestle his way to the keyboard. However the two men managed to get him to the floor.

"Security!" The female auditor called for the guard, who came over and handcuffed Tony Omera. "Escort Mr. Omera to the conference room and keep him there." As the bank president was dragged off kicking and cursing the other two auditors stood up, brushing themselves off.

One of them turned to the woman now holding the laptop. "What the hell do you think he was trying to hide?"

"I don't know." She tapped a key and the screen sprang to life. The woman's eyes widened at what she saw there and then she hit play and blanched.

The other man smiled. "His porn collection? My sixteen year old probably has harder stuff than that hidden on his computer. Why would he throw it all away for a bunch of cheap porn?"

The female auditor shook her head. Some of her hobbies were not meant to be shared with the people at work. "No, there's something wrong here." She reached into her briefcase and fished out her phone. "Get me the FBI, please."

**Here**

"Last Friday the FDIC closed a bank in Santa Barbara, California. They found evidence on one of the bank computers that the CEO might be involved in some kind of sex crime ring. They turned the evidence over to the Human Trafficking Unit who has been working on the evidence they collected all week-end." Hotch handed the file off to JJ, who started hanging pictures of the victims on the conference room wall. "They went out to the CEO's residence and found his partner with more evidence, including a crime scene and three victims. They also found a computer holding a number of images and video clips. When they ran the images through facial recognition software it came up with almost a dozen hits, and they are still finding more."

"Any bodies so far?" Morgan wanted to know.

"No, beyond length of time missing we have no reason to suspect these victims are dead."

"Then why is this our case?" Morgan asked.

Hotch was about to answer when JJ made a small sound. They all turned to see her shocked expression, but Hotch just nodded at her. JJ put another picture on the board, a young woman with dark hair and cobalt eyes….

'

Spencer felt the world narrow down to one picture on one wall. He heard exactly none of the rest of the briefing; all he could think was that he found her. He found her at last.

"Reid…Spencer…Spencer…"

Oh, wait, that was Hotch talking to him. "I'm sorry?"

Hotch sighed. "Spencer, I asked if you thought you could do this. I know this is going to be hard."

"Yes." Spencer didn't even bother to pause. "I can do this. I have to do this. What do you need from me?"

"We need a geographic profile. We're dealing with more than one unsub, we need to know what links the victims. And we're heading out to the coast, wheels up in 45 minutes. We need you there."

"All right." Spencer swallowed hard. "You…you said there was video?"

Hotch took a deep breath. "You don't need to see that."

"I want…you need victimology…I…"

"You asked me once what I would do if it was Hailey. I wouldn't want to see that. Morgan and I will handle victimology."

Spencer stood there a long moment, looking at her picture on the board. Her faculty ID, he realized. I brought that picture to the police when I reported her missing. "I…I feel like I'm turning her over for safe keeping or something. Just...take care of her, please."

Morgan spoke up from the doorway. "Don't worry kid; you know we will."

Spencer looked at the two men and delivered his heart and all of his trust into their hands. "I know."

------

Derek Morgan didn't need to even be in the room to know his princess was crying. He swore he could feel the vibe coming from down the hall. He stepped up behind her and put his hands on Penelope Garcia's shoulders. "You okay, baby girl?"

"No. I'm not." Garcia's usually cheerful voice was broken. "This is not okay, okay? It's not okay."

"Hey, come on. Think of it as just another case, she's just another victim."

"No, she's not. We get victims through here all the time, okay, and they're people and they have families, but they're here and then they go, all right, and we move on to the next one. But I have been to her _house_, Morgan. He replaced her clothes, do you know that? And her books and he bought her some yarn for when she gets back…I flipped through her wedding album and watched the video and it's just…." Garcia sobbed a moment. "And now I've heard her screaming and seen her bleeding and what they did and it's just not okay at all. She is a friend and it's not okay at all."

"Shhhh, I know. I know." He just stood there a moment and let her have it out. "I want you to send all the video you find to me. Hotch and I are going to take care of it."

"Oh…okay. And while you do that I will work on the who and the where." She looked up as something beeped. "Oh, 'cause this is going to be like cracking a Swiss bank. This is not going to be fun."

"You can do it my goddess. I have every faith in you." One last squeeze of her shoulders and he moved to go. But he looked at the screen and… "You mean that?"

"Do you really want an answer?"

"Nu-uh."

------

The flight to the west coast was uneventful. Nothing new came out of Garcia, except curt requests that they leave her alone, please.

Spencer looked over at Morgan. The older man had been watching the videos on his laptop, with the headphones. Spencer could tell that it was wearing on his friend. "Would it help if she was more human, or less?"

"More." Morgan admitted. "I keep thinking that this is all she has now. I know it's not true, but they've done a damm good job of taking all the humanity out. And it doesn't help that she never looks at the camera, I can't tell what she's thinking or feeling."

"She wouldn't. She doesn't make eye contact much either. But you can tell after a while. Crop to her face? I can try to help."

"No." Morgan shook his head. "I will make do."

They sat in silence for a while, and then Spencer sent Morgan a file.

"What's that?"

"Something my friend Ethan sent me. It might help."

Morgan listened, and found something very human. "It does."

------

Once they landed the team split up. Hotch and Rossi headed to the Federal Building in Los Angelis to interview the suspects. Emily and JJ went to the UCLA Medical Center to check on survivors, which left Morgan and Reid to check out the scene.

------

Hotch looked over the man on the other side of the table. New money, he thought, he enjoys the privileges and pleasures that money brings him. He likes to think that social power brings real power, but banking is, in the end, a service industry, as is medicine. Neither of them does more than make their clients happy. And they know it and take their humiliations and frustrations out on the victims. He pulled a picture from a file and put it on the table in front of Tony Omera. "Do you recognize her?"

Tony picked up the picture and looked it over a long moment. "Oh yes, I do remember her. I didn't do much with her, I prefer taller blonds. She was really there for Jamie to work his magic."

"Where is she now?"

"I don't know."

"Who is she with?"

"I don't know."

"What about your other victims?" Hotch pulled more pictures from the files. "Where are they?"

"I don't know."

"Who are they with?"

"I don't know."

Hotch sighed in frustration. "If you help us find them I'll tell the judge you cooperated. It might take some time off your sentence."

"Oh, honey. That's the last thing I need right now."

------

Rossi wasn't having any better luck.

"Do you recognize this woman?" He put Gwen's picture down in front of Omera's "partner", Dr. James Bernard.

"I'm sorry, I can't say anything, doctor-patient privilege." The doctor gave Rossi a small smile.

"Patient? She was being held against her will. She didn't consent to anything you did to her. All we know right now is that the wife of an FBI agent was kidnapped, and you were the last person to see her. Now if you don't start talking you will be going away for a very long time."

The doctor's smile faltered. "If I tell you, he will kill me."

"Who? Who will kill you?" Rossi tried for an hour, but the doctor just smiled and refused to say anything more.

------

"Oh God," Emily came out of one of the victim's rooms. "Stockholm syndrome much?"

"Just a little," JJ was at the nurse's station, scrubbing her hands for the second time. "Mine suggested I join her and her 'Master", and then licked me." She shuddered and kept scrubbing.

"I have never heard anyone refer to herself with that kind of language that before. Not even the hookers. They all fit the same victim pattern, well educated, well employed, even attractive, but in private a broken home and a string of failed relationships. So they feel like a fake, a public success and a private failure. Then they wake up in a world where the rules are simple and total acceptance is guaranteed if they just play along." Emily shook her head. "You know, some days I know exactly how that feels."

"Yeah, well, no getting locked in a dungeon." JJ added a coating of hand sanitizer, just in case. "Can we talk to the third victim?"

"No, she was new; she only went missing two weeks ago. She was so hysterical they had to sedate her, it'll be tomorrow at best before she can talk."

JJ shook her hands to dry them. "What I don't understand is, why Gwen? She was in what certainly sounds like a good marriage; she was successful both in public and private. She didn't fit the profile."

"That assumes you consider marriage to Spencer successful."

"Why wouldn't they?"

"Most people don't know him like we do. They would only see a beautiful girl who married a geek way too young to escape her life. They might figure someone like that could never meet her needs, and so she'd be as unhappy and vulnerable as the others."

JJ chuckled. "Boy, were they wrong."

------

At this moment Spencer thought he'd rather be anywhere but here.

He was standing in what looked a lot like an animal kennel. A long, narrow room with six cadges on either side. The cages were lined with straw, straw that was clearly changed infrequently. He kicked one and watched the straw rustle.

Morgan had been speaking to the officers on duty. It wasn't hard to know where to go; all he had to do was follow the stench that wafted upstairs. He came down with the initial responders report in his hands. "It looks like the first uniforms on scene found the survivors in these cages over here. Oh man." Morgan's stomach was churning.

"It looks like these unsubs designed this space for maximum humiliation. Neither seemed particularly athletic or socially adept. I'd bet they've been enjoying revenge fantasies since junior high; they finally found enough wealth and power to make those fantasies come true." There was no place to hide in these cages, he thought. No way to hide from the smells or the sounds, or to be warm or clean. No way to hide from the men always looking at you, even as you used the trench at the back of the cage, even as you tried to sleep. He studied a water bottle hanging from the side of one of the cages. It looked like an overgrown version of something that might hang from the side of a hamster cage, except that the delivery pipe had been fitted through a hole bored through the center of a large, flesh colored…. Spencer shuddered and turned away only to face what passed for a shower, an open, tiled space with a hose hanging from the wall. I bet even the water is cold, he thought.

"Yeah, well now they can live out their prison fantasies." Morgan walked through one of the open doorways, found the light switch. The room was plush, luxuriously furnished, with soft lighting and overstuffed seating, for the unsubs. It also smelled of sex and blood and something worse, and most of the furnishings were not something he even wanted to consider. "Do you really need to go in here?"

"No." Spencer did not need to go into the torture room. He'd turned the corner and found the clinic and that was bad enough. It was clean, he had to give them that, and the two beds in the corner were actually set up to keep patients alive and healthy. But it was a gynecological bed, and those were instruments bagged up on that tray and he did not want to think about what it meant at all. "I doubt there could be many doctors in this ring, it may well be that every victim has passed through here. Ask Garcia to concentrate on looking for medical records, those might give us the most thorough catalogue of who we're looking for." I can't ask myself if they hurt you, he thought as he gently touched the bed with a gloved hand. I can't ask myself if you were scared. Because I know they hurt you, I know you were terrified here. All I can do is hope Garcia can find those records, and that whatever they did, I can find a way to fix. I can put it all back together and somehow make it good.

After a long moment Spencer looked up and spotted the drug cabinet; antibiotics, from the looks of it, anti anxiety agents, sedatives, painkillers, narcotics, Dilaudid. He didn't realize he was holding himself, gently rocking back and forth. For a moment, all he knew was that he could stop the pain leaking out of his heart. I thought she was dead, he realized. Part of me hoped she was dead; and not hurting anymore. Now I know.

Morgan walked up behind him; put a hand on his friend's shoulder. He'd never seen the younger man so distressed, not even when Tobias Hankel put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger. "You okay?"

"No. I could really use a trip to the movies right about now." I cannot do this. I want it all back, all of it, right now, exactly the way it was. This cannot be endured. I don't think I can make it for one moment more.

Morgan followed Reid's glance and understood. "Hey, officer!" he called back up the stairs. When the uniform came down he nodded at the drugs in the cabinet. "Secure this into evidence please." As the officers removed the temptation he turned Spencer around by the shoulder, and guided him back upstairs toward the light.


	10. Chapter 10

**The Break, Pt 2**

**Here**

As they walked back into the Santa Barbara police station Morgan's phone rang. "What have you got for me baby girl?"

"Brilliant boy is brilliant; I found all the medical records. They weren't as deeply encrypted as the contact and communication records, those I'm still digging for. I'm cross checking all the photos off the records with the Missing Person's Database, and it's all hitting the printer at your location as we speak."

Morgan chuckled. "Have I told you lately how wonderful you are?"

"Not for at least an hour, you're late. I will call you back when I have more." The phone cut off with what might have been a click. Or perhaps a blown kiss, you never knew.

Spencer joined JJ at the board, where she was putting up the pictures of the missing victims, replicating the line-up from the conference room back in the office….

_Wait…._

Rossi started. "We're not getting anything out of the unsubs we have so far. They're both terrified."

_Wait…._

"Yes, but of what?" Hotch asked, "We have yet to see any evidence of organized crime, or of large amounts of cash going in and out. The FDIC finished their audits, the bank failure is legitimate. There's no sign of embezzlement on the part of Mr. Omera. And his partner, Dr. James Bernard, came back with a clean bill of financial health."

_Wait…._

"I don't think this is about money." Spencer began rearranging the pictures on the board, grouping certain pictures together. "Look, these six all worked in banking. Garcia?" Wait, must dial phone first. "Garcia, before Tony Omera went to work at Golden West Bank, did he work at Sunimara Bank?"

"Yes, he did, he was…"

Spencer interrupted, "And before that Sacramento State Bank?"

"Yeah. What's going on?"

"And did James Bernard have privileges at The West Coast Surgical Center?"

"Yes he did. Why?"

_Yes…_

_Yes…_

Spencer turned to the group. "I know why we're not seeing any money changing hands. It's not a trafficking ring. It's more like a…a gentleman's club. We're looking at a team of unsubs, similar to the one down in Jacksonville, Florida, except that there are at least eight submissive unsubs working under one dominant. Each of these groups was taken by one unsub, at a rate of about one per twelve to eighteen months. Look." He started rearranging the pictures. "These all worked under Tony Omera. This group all came in contact with James Bernard." There were eight groups on the wall. This theory accounted for two.

Emily got it first. "Membership is bringing in a victim, and sharing with the group. But you only have to pay for your own torture chamber, so little if any money actually changes hands."

Morgan saw it next. "Okay, these men are showing classic Anger Retaliatory Behavior. They think they deserve a lot more respect than they get in their day-to-day life. The sexual violence against people who are in one way or another higher on the societal pecking order is their way of getting revenge for all the little humiliations and frustrations they get while working in what's basically service industries. The dominant must be giving them some of his power and respect by association in order to maintain his control. His behavior would be classic Anger Excitation Behavior; he gets off on witnessing the suffering. In exchange for bringing them up to his social level he gets a steady stream of new victims and never has to risk getting his hands dirty."

Rossi nodded. "Odds are there's no video of the dominant, and he has first dibs on everyone they catch. If they don't keep uploading videos that make him happy they get dropped from the club, lose their power and prestige by association, and get turned over to the cops, with a whole file of evidence." He turned to Reid. "But how can you be sure with just two unsubs?"

"Three actually," Reid touched one group, the one that included two jocks, one student who formed his own successful internet start-up, and one Professor from CalTech, among others. "According to their file, these two young men were part of the MathBound program. It's supposed to help get kids from the inner city interested in math and science, and hopefully help them get into college, and in their case, get athletic scholarships. That particular chapter meets on the CalTech campus."

Hotch had come up beside him to study the board. "Yes, but these three were taken from Princeton, those two from MIT. That doesn't fit the pattern."

"It does if the unsub for this cluster was at those two universities before he came to CalTech. And I know who it is." Spencer's eyes closed as he remembered. "I watched him hunt."

------

Spencer stood on the unseen side of the mirror, practically trembling. On the other side, sitting quite calmly was his old boss, Dr. Mark Weir, Chair of the Mathematics Department at CalTech. "I was in his office every day for a month, begging him to do something, anything to help find her. Hell, he danced with her on our wedding day. I practically _gave_ her to him."

"Stop right there. Do not blame yourself for this." Morgan frowned at his friend. "None of this is your fault. You could not have known."

Both men fell silent as Hotch walked in to the room. He began laying pictures down in front of Dr. Weir, starting with the two young men from the MathBound program.

"Is that what this is about?" Dr. Weir seemed to study the photos. "Sad, really, we try so hard to give them a chance at a future. But then they run off to the gangs again."

Hotch lay down two more pictures.

"MIT is a big school. I don't know what happens to all of my students."

Hotch lay down one more.

"Ah, Dr. Ryder, yes, well, I don't blame her for leaving, given that her husband couldn't quite get 'the deed' done, in, what, three years of marriage?"

Spencer felt all the blood run from his face.

Hotch's voice was very, very quiet. "And how did you know that?"

There was a very long pause as the unsub realized his mistake. "I do not believe I shall say any more until my lawyer arrives." Dr. Weir fell silent.

Both men's heads spun around as the door open and Spencer pounced, grabbing Weir and throwing him against the wall. "You sonofabitch!" Spencer slammed his fist into the other man's nose, breaking it instantly.

It took Hotch and Morgan to pull him free.

------

Emily walked up to the group in the conference room. "You were right. Ground penetrating radar found a room under Weir's garage, torture chamber, video set up, and one of the MathBound kids."

"How is he?" Morgan asked. He was sitting at the desk fixing up Reid's knuckles.

"Alive. But I think we're going to get less out of him than the other three. JJ and Rossi are on their way over there. Maybe she can get something." Emily pointed to Reid's hand and gave a questioning frown. "What happened?"

"I broke Weir's nose which actually felt remarkably satisfying." Morgan finished and he shook his hand a few times. Hurt but it still functioned. "You know, I introduced them. We worked for him, both of us."

"Stop," Morgan started re-packing the first aid kit. "One thing I can't figure out is why it took him so long to get to her. Every other unsub we've identified goes from meeting to grab in six weeks. It took him almost three years."

"She was actually very rarely alone. I used to walk with her just about everywhere. He must have been the one to start the fire in Sloan hall, and then he would have needed an accomplice or two at the apartment building."

Emily nodded. "That was a big risk, but if you were that protective of her he must have felt that it was worth it. Either he thought it would buy him special favor with the dominant or the dominant saw her and specifically singled her out."

"I wasn't being protective. We both felt safe there. I just enjoyed her company." Spencer shook his head. "The dominant would have to be someone much more wealthy and powerful than a doctor, a bank president or a college dean. Usually that would be a small list, but CalTech draws leaders from both business and government because of the level of research done there. It could have been any one of hundreds of people. That's too big a suspect pool." He didn't realize he was looking a little hopeless.

"We'll get her back for you, kid, don't worry." Morgan gave him a reassuring tap on the shoulder before going to put the kit away.

------

Spencer had just sorted Gwen's file out of the pile. Dr. Bernard had kept excellent notes on the other victims, there ought to be the same for Gwen, assuming he had done anything to her. He opened the file, had only enough time to note that there was stuff there, before Garcia popped back on the monitor. "Okay, its good news, bad news, good news time."

"Go ahead Garcia." Hotch rumbled as everyone came in to sit down and listen.

"Good news, we've been able to get some of their encryption cracked. We have yet to figure out who is writing from where, but we can read their e-mail as it goes by."

"So what are they talking about?"

"Mostly the videos, not that they talk much. The bad news is that Dr. Weir is due to upload one in 36 hours, and they are already leaning on Mr. Omera to get his next one uploaded into their network."

"Is there any video available that they haven't uploaded yet?"

"No, that's also part of the bad news. I was able to log in as Tony using his open laptop and convince them that the FDIC was still hanging around, and that it wasn't safe. They gave him 24 hours to comply, which buys us some time."

Rossi looked over. "If they think they're being made they may close up shop, and eliminate the witnesses."

Spencer felt his heart start falling. It was a very long way down.

JJ shook her head. "There is no way we can get the victims in there to make more videos, or any one else for that matter. So we have, what, 24 hours to track down six more unsubs?"

"Ah, now that is where you are wrong my lovelies." Garcia's voice sang out. "Trust your goddess to be able to handle the little details. You all need to get up to San Francisco."

**Nowhere**

_Hunger_

_Empty_

_Hollow_

_Twisting_

_Hunger_

_No help for it_

_Would not do that_

_Would_

_Not_

_Simple to lie here_

_To wait_

_To slip away_

_Quiet_

_Empty_

_Hollow_

_Cold_


	11. Chapter 11

**The Armory, Pt 1.**

**Here**

If anyone was actually surprised to find out that Garcia personally knew the head of one of the largest porn studios in the US, they kept it to themselves. Peter, the head of the studio, met them at the airport, asked after "his Penny", and offered them the full use of his facilities. By the time they reached the studio they found that his staff had volunteered to help, and that they were already setting up the studios to mimic the videos that Garcia had found. Spencer found himself standing in an exact replica of the torture chamber from Santa Barbara. The only difference was that the air in here was utterly clean and odor-free. "I'm very impressed."

"Don't be." Peter chuckled. "The wankers copied one of our sets. It wasn't hard to adjust."

Rossi gave up, he had to ask. "So, how do you know Garcia."

Peter's smile grew a little far away. "Oh, we met through mutual friends a while ago. Our main business is streaming video, including on-demand and live shows. All of it distributed through a secure network based off the original she created for me ten years ago. "

Rossi nodded. "May I ask how much?"

"We netted well over fifty million, last year alone." Peter's smile grew wider as Rossi whistled. "Never doubt her loyalty to your cause; I'd make her a very rich woman if she were to come back and take over my IT department, very, very rich."

While Peter and Rossi talked, Spencer wandered over to settle some of his curiosity. Brian, one of the volunteers, was standing in one of the studios, pressed against a false wall made to look like Dr. Weir's basement. Brian looked to be all of sixteen, but Peter had insisted they have a look at the actors ID, so they could verify its authenticity, and which proved him to be twenty. He wasn't shackled to the wall yet; he was standing there while a make-up tech applied spirit gum and paint to his shoulders, butt and thighs, mimicking the thick, black welts they had seen some of the videos. "What are those supposed to be?"

"Cane welts. I don't usually mind a good caning, but not hard enough to leave these kinds of marks. That's significant tissue trauma."

"So, why do you do this? I mean, work here."

"I enjoy it. More endorphins than a good workout, and you get to meet lots of guys" Brian looked Spencer over and raised an eyebrow.

Spencer raised his hand, to show off the silver band on his finger and smiled. Someday I am going to have to ask Morgan why gay men keep hitting on me.

Brian returned the smile and shrugged. "And they pay well." He named a figure that made Reid's eyes widen a bit. "I work two days a month to cover my expenses, and the rest of the time I'm in med school; granted I usually wear a wig and a lot more makeup, so no one can recognize me, but for what I make it's worth a little risk."

"I don't blame you." Reid thought of all this for a moment. "Thank you, for volunteering today."

"Oh, honey, what those bastards are doing is just beyond wrong. If any of us can help get monsters like that off the streets we'd be glad to help."

"Okay, Brian, lean forward just a little and stick your ass out, nice and slow." The tech stood up from where he'd been working on the other man's backside, and gently put a hand on his waist to guide him. "Feel that pulling?" When Brian nodded he continued, "That's a thin latex bubble full of fake blood. If you lean just a little more it will pop, and we'll get the trickle effect we're looking for, okay?" Brian nodded again and the tech turned to the director. "We're ready."

Everyone stepped back as they gave one last spray of oil, to make him look properly glazed in sweat, and then strapped him into the shackles on the wall. A few seconds after the director called "Action!" Brian leaned back his head and started howling. Suddenly he went from a calm, confident med student to a shattered mess of a victim, young and terrified out of his mind. He bent just so and the blood started trickling down his lacerated buttocks and thighs as he begged the dark-clad figure behind him to Please! Stop!

Reid quietly backed out the door.

-----

In the next studio down, Emily and Morgan were watching them set up for a whipping scene. The studio had been set up to replicate the torture chamber of another member of the club. They had yet to catch this one, but they felt it was better to have back-up video just in case at this point. The volunteer, Heather, was being made up with a larger latex bubble, this one along the side of her ribs and breast. Emily and Morgan were talking with Michael, an older man and one of the regulars at the studio, who had volunteered to play the unsub. Emily was watching the making-up, with a confused look on her face. "Why are you doing that? I thought you were beating her back?"

"We are. But your bad guys have lousy technique, they let the tip wrap."

"The tip wrap?"

"Yeah, see." He pointed himself in a safe direction and let go with the whip. The tip made that distinctive cracking sound in the air. "When you hear that, it means the tip is breaking the sound barrier. That kind of thing will cut human flesh. By the time the tip wraps around to the front of the torso it's almost at that speed, causing a great deal of pain and damage in tender spots. Now, I'm not going to be hitting Heather nearly that hard, so the bag will give something more delicate for the whip to break and give the effect of cutting. It will also provide more protection for her skin."

"You're not going to hit her that hard? How are you going to make it look right?"

Michael ran his gloved hand down the whip. It came back with a dark, red coating. "The pigment will come off on her skin, making it look welted. It's going to take a lot of cold cream to get it off, but in the end she'll just be a little pink under it, no worse than a mild sunburn.

Emily thought a moment. "I want to try."

Morgan looked away from where he had been admiring the lovely Heather. "What? Emily, you're not the type."

"It's not right to ask someone to volunteer to do something we wouldn't do. Besides, it's just like a mild sunburn. How bad can it be?"

Michael took it all in stride. He coiled the painted whip on the paper draped table beside him and went to pull another from a cabinet. They all came wrapped and sealed in plastic, the agents noticed "There are wavers on that clipboard, go ahead and sign one."

Emily signed one, and handed the clipboard to Morgan. "They make everyone sign one here?"

"Are you kidding? These days I almost make my wife sign a waver before I take her to the movies." He took the clipboard back from her and carefully placed the form in the appropriate slot on the wall. "All right, take off your top and bra and stand against the wall over there." Emily nodded and went to do so, passing her gun to Morgan as she went.

Morgan watched Michael pull a red and black whip from the bag, as Emily stripped down behind him "Why not use one of the ones on the table?"

Michael smiled as he tested the weight of the new whip. "Because those most closely match the one your bad guy uses, so we're saving them for Heather. One person per use, then we have them cleaned and sterilized. You can't be too careful." Michael nodded to Emily, "Ready?"

"Ready." The whip lashed out twice, but both times all she felt was a slight whack and a burning sensation. She looked back over her shoulder and saw two faintly pink stripes across her back. "That's it? I've been hurt worse in training."

Michael nodded, "Yes, that's it. We rarely get harder here. There's no need to damage someone, it's more about the fantasy. Now this is what happens when you lose control of the tip." He lashed out once more, this time drawing a sharp "Ow!" from his victim.

Morgan looked over with concern as Emily covered herself with her hands and turned to show the damage. Just on the side of her right breast, where it met her rib cage, was a small, bright pink mark, barely the size of a her fingernail. "That felt like getting popped with a rubber band, hard. Ow."

"You'll have that mark through tomorrow, but the rest should fade in an hour. I wouldn't go harder on you, period. I've seen some shoots out of Eastern Europe, where they seriously worked the girls over. You can see the damage."

Morgan looked at him, impressed, then signed a waver, and pulled off his shirt. "Would you go harder on me?"

Michael walked around him, admiring the well-developed torso, prodding here and there with his glove covered hands. "Yes, you have the meat for it. Darker skin scars more easily, so I won't go hard enough to cut on the back. The tip might, though. You understand that?" He waited for Morgan to nod, then went to the closet for another whip, carefully placing the one he had used on Emily aside for cleaning, as she dressed and traded guns with her partner.

As soon as she was dressed enough to turn around she hissed at Morgan. "What are you doing? Are you crazy?"

"Look, someone has to know what that girl went through, first hand. And if this guy isn't going to work on you he sure as hell isn't going to work on Reid, he's skinnier than you are. Just keep an eye out for Hotch."

Michael came back with a blue and black whip this time, and nodded Morgan over to the wall. Morgan looked at the shackles above his head and swallowed his own painful memories. This is nothing like the past, he thought. Chicago is a long way from here and I know Emily's got my back. Nothing like that is going to happen. But someone has to know. "Let's do this right."

Michael came over and fastened his wrist into the iron shackles. A couple of good solid tugs told Morgan that they were very real. "I'll give you three, like the ones in those videos you brought, no more. If it's too much, your safe word is 'Virginia'. Call it and everything stops immediately." Morgan nodded.

While Michael got ready Morgan spoke over his shoulder to Emily. "Okay, so, what do we know about her? Oversensitive to light, so the harsh filming lights might make her feel ill, as would the stench in the torture rooms. I'm slightly chilled; she's more sensitive and also has a smaller body mass, so she'd be freezing. And I'm slightly off balance; impaired vestibular sense would make that worse. So I'm sick to my stomach, dizzy, freezing and terrified."

"Add in embarrassed. After all, you ought to be naked." Emily smiled, just a little.

"Yeah, not today lady," but I remember how that feels, he thought. Naked and vulnerable, and terrified of whatever is going to come next.

As Michael stepped back Morgan braced himself. Then, without warning, his world exploded. Red hot fire seared across his back and ribs. He gave a huge yank on the shackles to instinctively try to get free, but they held firm, and a growl came from his throat. The second one came, burning across just below the first, drawing a gasp, leaving him shaking from adrenalin. One more, he thought, I can take one more. He almost lost it as he felt a gloved hand run over his back, over the welts. He's going to touch me, he thought, he's going to touch me or hurt me and I can't…..The third one brought an actual cry of pain as it cut across the first two at a slight angle, feeling literally like the skin on his back had been laid open. He cut me, he thought, that bastard cut me when he said he wouldn't. He hung there for a long moment, what felt like forever, waiting for the next blow, the next touch, waiting. But then Michael and Emily were letting him free.

"Damn." His head was spinning from the depths of emotion. There was a mirror nearby, so he turned to look and saw that his back was uncut. Three long welts were rising, clearly turning to bruises under the skin. He could feel the heat rising from them, even as the first, sharp pain was subsiding. But his skin was unbroken. He did exactly what he said he would do, not one thing more.

"Those will last a week." Michael informed him as he came back with the first aid gear, "They'll be sore and tender to the touch, but then you must have had bruises before."

"Yeah, yeah, I have." Morgan watched as Emily took the box and turned her attention to his ribcage, where three small, triangle shaped gouges were welling small drops of blood, the only skin that would be broken that day. "You know, he's a professional, this is a safe space, and my armed partner was watching him like a hawk. I can't imagine what it would be like to have that go on and on and not knowing someone had your back."

**Nowhere**

_Nightmares_

_Things she didn't want to remember_

_Breathing._

_The world had been reduced to breathing._

_In._

_Out._

_It was the only thing she could control._

_In._

_Out_

_The only thing she had._

_In._

_Out. . _

_He pushed, threw her over what felt like a humped bench, hard under her, lower than at the last place. Her arms trapped behind her, useless, her head banged against the concrete; the bench forced the wind from her lungs. _

_That hurt, a deeper, more ominous hurt. She coughed, deep._

_In. _

_Out._

_She couldn't stop shaking._

_In._

_A sniffling sound._

_Out._

_A delicate brush._

_In._

_Her blood trickling down her spine._

_Out_

_The sensation of being ~licked~._

_In._

_She shivered._

_Out_

_She was wrong._

_In_

_She'd forgotten._

_Out. _

_It could always get worse._


	12. Chapter 12

**The Armory, Pt 2**

**Here**

Spencer Finally found a place relatively quiet enough for what he needed. In the hallway outside the backs of the studios, just down the hall from the dressing rooms, was a stairway. He sat on the steps and pulled a folder out of his satchel. For all that Dr. Bernard was a monster; he was also a meticulous note taker. This might be the best record of at least some of what happened to her. A quick flip through the file showed that if there were any pictures someone had removed them before putting this copy on his pile. Thank god, he thought, I don't want to remember her face any way other than I do, just in case. When he closed his eyes he could still see her, that day at the theater, the morning of her eighteenth birthday, right after she gave her first lecture, on their wedding day. Those were the memories he wanted to keep clean, if he could.

A few minutes later JJ found him sitting there. She could tell from the way he was sitting that he'd found something disturbing in the file. He was rocking slightly, looking past the edge of the paper at nothing. She sat down next to him, so he could feel her warmth and not be alone. "Spence? What is it?"

Spencer cleared his throat, in the hopes of being able to actually speak. "According to his notes Dr. Bernard performed a subtotal hysterectomy. He removed her uterus."

JJ put her arm around her son's godfather in a gentle hug "I'm sorry, Spence."

He looked over at her, confused. His thoughts simply refused to come together at all. "You knew?"

"He performed the same surgery on the other victims. If it's any consolation, the doctors said that there were no signs of complications, they all healed clean."

"It might be." He took a big, deep breath, "I honestly don't know how I feel about this."

"Did you two want children?"

"We never talked about it. It never came up." Spencer shook his head. "She wasn't ready and I wasn't sure. I didn't know if I wanted to risk passing on schizophrenia from my mom. I was going to wait and see what she wanted, when she was ready, and then decide. But now…"

"But now?"

"It's not my decision, our decision any more. That…changes things. And…now I've met Henry. That changes things too."

JJ nodded. "I can understand that. It would have changed things for me. How do you think she's going to feel when she finds out?"

"I don't know. But, she already knows what happened." He pointed to the file open on his lap. "These drugs are commonly used for an epidural, local anesthesia, not general. She watched what he did to her."

"Oh my god." That shocked JJ more. That she couldn't imagine. After a long moment of just holding her friend she sighed. "Spence, I just know you're going to be a wonderful dad someday, and from what you've told us Gwen is going to be an amazing mother. I have to believe that this will all work out for the good somehow." She squeezed him one more time and stood up.

"I hope you're right." I really do, he thought. It's different now. He watched her walk away, rather suspecting she was going to call Will and Henry. At least I'll never have to feel Gwen's stomach move. And neither will she. That may be a good thing.

------

Peter was standing in the IT room with Hotch and Rossi, looking over some of the videos uploaded by the 'Gentleman's Club', as they were now calling the group of unsubs. "Nope, not that. It's a hard limit for everyone who works here. Not going to happen."

"We can't even ask them?" Hotch could understand, easily. But he wanted to have as much covered as he could.

"No. I wouldn't film it here, even if you could get someone to volunteer. You'd have to destroy it afterward, it wouldn't be safe. And that's just not right. No."

Hotch sighed, and nodded.

------

Emily looked up when Morgan gave a disgusted moan and closed something on his laptop. "What is it?"

"Those videos of Reid's wife. I just…I do not know how someone can do that to someone else."

"What did they do?" Emily listened and went pale as Morgan told her. "Oh. Oh, you need to tell him."

"No, I don't. He does not need to know that."

"Yes, he does. He ought to be prepared so he can get her the help she needs. Come on."

"Dammit." Emily was right. Morgan shook his head and went to find Spencer.

------

A few minutes later Emily and Morgan found Spencer on the stairs. Emily came to sit beside him, while Morgan crouched down so they could talk. "Reid, there's something you need to know."

"What?" Spencer looked up from the file he was studying. So far there really wasn't much more.

"I've been going through those videos, not just for victimology but to see if there was anything in there that could lead us to something that would help…" Morgan wasn't sure how to go on. "Look, they did something to her. They…they said they thought she was being stubborn, that she was enjoying it and not letting them see. So they said they'd make her keep it up until she showed she was enjoying herself or until it hurt her. Only she didn't and I'm pretty sure it did."

"Which is just vague enough to be deeply disturbing." Spencer didn't want to look at the pictures forming inside his head. "I can't believe she'd voluntarily let herself be injured, she always had a healthy protective streak."

"The thing is, because of her condition I don't think she could enjoy it. I don't think she had a choice."

"Condition? You mean because she's not neurotypical?"

"Neurotypical? Don't you mean healthy."

Spencer considered this a moment. "I don't consider myself sick." He took a deep breath. "I'm going to need to see the video."

"No, you're not. You just need to know that she's gonna need help. That's all."

"Yeah, but what kind of help?" He wanted to know, truly, but Morgan just shook his head. After a few moments he went back to looking over the file.

"So Weir was actually telling the truth. You two never…." Morgan didn't know a tactful way to finish.

"No, we didn't. She wasn't ready and I wasn't going to push." He could hear the regret in his voice, and hated it. "I still wonder if that was a mistake."

"No, it wasn't." Emily contradicted. "It was the right thing to do. What happened is not your fault."

"I know. I just…it's not her body. I'm worried about what happened…what may have happened to her soul."

Emily put her arm around his shoulders and hugged him. "I'm sure we can find a way to help that, too."

"I just hope you two are right." Spencer muttered, and looked down at the file again.

"Hey, enough." Morgan reached over and turned over the papers in the file. "You gotta start thinking about what you can do in the future, not what you can't control now. Now, I want you to close your eyes and picture some place in the islands. White sand beaches, tropical sun…"

"You do realize she's paler than I am?" Spencer just had to point out.

"Ohhhkay" Emily thought fast. "How about a B&B in New England? A country inn, snow falling outside, roaring fireplace, big four-poster feather bed…"

"…no phone, no pager, nothing to do all week-end but make your lady very happy." Morgan finished.

Spencer could picture it. She'd like that, he thought, when she was healthy and ready. Someplace soft and quiet and warm and all the time they wanted…..he blinked and looked down at the blank paper in his lap. "Thank you. I was beginning to worry about my testosterone levels."

"Just leave the little things to me, kid." Morgan laughed again, and then yelped as Emily hit him in the shoulder, hard.

------

Spencer decided to spend the rest of their time there hiding on the stairs. He couldn't go to the IT room without shutting down communication between Garcia and Hotch. And he couldn't go into the studios without getting so disgusted and angry and afraid at the thought of how that could be happening to _her_ that he simply couldn't think straight. So he sat there, reading all the notes they brought to him trying to finish the profile. Most potent weapon they had, right?

Right?

Otherwise he just watched the people. It was easier to watch the people who worked here, not to think of why they were working today. They seemed so happy with their work, so cheerful. It was nice to see that.

Eventually Rossi took a turn coming out to check on him. "Hey, kid. How are you holding up?"

Spencer thought about it a moment. "Thinly, the less I connect this with any form of reality the better I feel."

"You're going to have to confront the reality of what's happened to her eventually."

"I know. I will when she's back and safe. Not before."

"All right."

Rossi sat with Spencer on the stairs a while, both reading files, until they heard "Charlotte, those are _gorgeous!_"

Rossi sensed the kid's sudden agitation a moment before Spencer set the files aside. "I saw a coffee place a block over. Want some coffee? I'm going to go get some coffee." Rossi looked up as Spencer all but ran out of the building, pushing past Morgan as he did so.

Rossi looked the other way, back toward the dressing rooms. Charlotte, as it turned out, was a petite actress, with pale skin and smaller, natural curves and lots of chestnut brown curls. She was talking to some of the other actresses, and showing off her sapphire blue contacts.

"I'll go after him," was all Morgan had to say, as he followed Spencer out the door.

------

7 am at the BAU and Penelope Garcia was getting an early start on the work day. Or that was her intention when she fired up her monitors for the day. "What the…Oh my….Oh he didn't…"

4:10 am in San Francisco and Derek Morgan's phone rang. "Princess, why are you waking me up so early?....What?...He what?...Okay, I'll go talk to him."

4:20 am and after not getting an answer when he knocked Morgan used a master key obtained from the front desk to open Spencer Reid's room. He half expected to find it empty, or to find a needle on the nightstand, but Spencer was just lying there, staring up at the ceiling in the dark, his laptop open beside him. "Reid!" Morgan nudged the bed and turned on the light. Spencer sat up, pulling the headphones from his ears as he did so. "I just got a call from Garcia."

"Oh. I'm sorry. I needed to know." Spencer didn't bother to hide the evidence, the files of videos taken from Garcia's computer were right there on his desktop. He just lay back down and went back to contemplating the ceiling. "I don't want to tell her that it wasn't that hard. Is she really mad?"

"Because you hacked her system? Better you than someone else. But she is worried about you. And I am too." Morgan hauled a chair over and sat beside the bed. "You're too calm for all this."

"What do you know about Vulcans?"

"You mean from Star Trek? Mr. Spock?"

"Yeah."

"Pure logic. No emotions."

"See that's a common assumption, that Vulcans don't feel emotions. The truth is they're one of the most passionate, emotional races in the galaxy. I mean, look at their cousins the Roumlans, they're so passionate they have to be separated from the rest of galaxy just to preserve the peace. The Vulcans came up with the philosophy of pure logic in order to get control of their feelings and reactions, knowing that their emotions were so strong that if they didn't it would tear their society apart."

"What are you saying?"

"Don't assume that logic and calm behavior equal a lack of emotion. It's just more useful than imitating a howler monkey. I've actually been lying here conjugating the verb 'To flense', which means to remove someone's skin in thin layers using very small knives."

Morgan nodded. "I can understand that. What else?"

"I'm finding it remarkably disquieting that I found her in six other videos, with different hair colors."

"It might be part of their attempt to dehumanize her. Make is so she doesn't recognize herself, emphasize the control they have over her. I'll ask Garcia to look over the videos more closely. What else?"

"I've never been as proud of Gwen as I am right now. Or that I've never loved her more."

Morgan helped himself to one of the water bottles on the nightstand. "Seriously? I mean, most guys would be angry and disgusted. I admit, I might have trouble looking at a girl again, knowing what she'd done."

"Of course." Spencer was disquieted that Morgan even had to ask that. "I am angry, at them and what _they_ did to _her_. And I am disgusted in general. I mean, we've seen some pretty nasty stuff in five years, some of this is creative. But I can't look at her with anything other than…respect."

"Why?"

"She's never given them anything. For all that they have tortured her, for all that she's been hurt, I haven't seen one inkling of what I knew was there before she was taken. All of the other victims gave in; they became part of that world. I mean, I even did, with Hankel and with Benjamin Cyrus, even for just a moment or two. In all this video, with all she's been through, she never has."

"It could be they killed it off."

"I don't think so. Did you notice how much of the time she's not really looking at anything?"

"Yeah."

"Sometimes people with Asperger's Syndrome or high functioning Autism will obsess over things. With males it tends to be facts or figures about a specific topic, um, trains, airplanes, dinosaurs…."

"…serial killers?" Morgan smiled when Spencer glared at him.

"Hans Asperger called them 'little professors', because of the way they would become experts on a subject. One of the reasons why it's so hard to diagnose in females is because many of them tend to go inward, create extremely detailed internal fantasy lives which they then think about obsessively. Gwen could describe her ideal environment in amazing detail, right down to the exact paint number of the color on the walls and the scents in the air. She theorized that it was an escape from a world that was too painful to inhabit. At least that's what she did growing up."

Morgan considered this a moment. "That sounds a lot like some techniques prisoners used to survive and resist in Vietnam."

"Oh yeah, the parallels are very clear. Before she was taken Gwen and I were working on a paper comparing the experiences of hypersensitive, high functioning Autistic women to types of torture, and showing how adapting the environment to their speed and sensitivity helped to ease the obsessive tendencies and allow them to integrate into society."

"You think that's what she's been doing? Checking out to her own world to protect herself?"

"Yes, I do. At least I hope so."

Morgan was quiet a moment, "And what about the physical side of it?"

"What about it?"

"She got hurt. You must have seen it."

"I saw it. I lost dinner over it." Italian, too. Unpleasant, that. "We can get that fixed, somehow." He hoped.

"Doesn't it matter?"

"Sex isn't just about what's physical, Morgan. What they did to her body doesn't matter at all. I really think what's special about her, her soul if you will, is still intact. And I would still be deeply honored if she shared that with me."

"You hope it's still intact."

"I hope."

**Nowhere**

_Nightmares_

_Things she did not want to remember_

_She couldn't._

_Not that._

_Oh, please_

_She could, elsewhere_

_Where it was intended_

_But not there_

_Not that_

_Not there_

_No_

_Made to kneel_

_Concrete floor_

_Jar shaken where she could see_

_Poured_

_Forced _

_No_

_Please_

_No_

_Laughter_

_No_

_Please no_

_Please_

_No_

_More_

_No_

_No_

_Screaming_

_No_

_No_

_Oh please_

_No_

------

**Note**: If you really want to know what upset Morgan and Emily, or any other details, PM me.


	13. Chapter 13

**The Bet**

**Here**

Mission Beach Café was between the Armory and the motel, it was a good place to stop for breakfast. Morgan looked across the table at Reid. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking of Jeremy Andrews, the sadistic electrician from Philadelphia. How he used to make audio recordings of his victims." Spencer looked down at his coffee and uneaten eggs with eyes more tired than usual. "Actually I'm trying not to think of Jeremy Andrews." Did she beg like that? Did she scream?

"You never hear her, do you?" Emily had been looking up at the wall, thinking. It took her a moment to realize that that was bad. "I'm sorry, maybe I shouldn't bring it up but all the other victims are a lot more verbal. She never talks. She hardly makes a sound."

"No, it's all right." Thank you Emily, Spencer thought, let me lecture so I don't have to feel. "Selective mutism, is actually not actually part of the autistic spectrum, but can be co-morbid with high functioning autism and especially with a sensory processing disorder like hers. During high anxiety situations she'll literally lose the ability to form words, even though her mind is still active. I could always tell when she had an exam that day; she'd be writing me notes over breakfast. She used to say it was like having your transmission stuck in neutral, the engine would rev but the wheels wouldn't catch."

"So even if she wanted to respond verbally to make them happy and take some of the punishment off, she couldn't."

Spencer shook his head. "No." He picked at his eggs a while, took a few bites, and then excused himself to the bathroom when he realized just how bad an idea that had been.

Emily watched him go. "I don't know how he's managed to do this all these years. I would have gone insane imagining her with every unsub we've found."

"Derealization." Morgan replied. "I've been watching him ever since we found out. I don't think he sees us or the job or any of it as quite real. You watch him carefully enough, you'll see it. Unless it involves his mom, it's as if he's acting in a play, and we're all the players. Real is five years ago in LA, this is all some nightmare, and someday he's gonna wake up."

"It makes sense; he started out playing a role to fool the Bureau, almost right after she left. If he wasn't being his real self, and no one knew the reality of her being gone and him being desperate, why should any of the rest of it be real?" Emily paused a moment, debating if she should ask. "You think that's why the drugs?"

"Maybe. Probably. Hankel popped the cork with the hallucinogens in his mix, after that he was trying to keep the pain from bleeding through from that reality into this one. I don't know what happened when he stayed with his friend in New Orleans, but he came back clean and bottled up tight. Tight enough to survive Gideon getting in the wind."

"You know, when we find her it's not going to be snap your fingers and wake up from your nightmare. That it's real is going to hit him, and hit him hard." Emily sighed

"Yeah, well, all we can do is try to catch." Morgan went back to his breakfast.

------

Hotch was already at the studio when the rest of them got there after breakfast. The look he gave Spencer told the younger man just how thin the ice beneath him was growing. "Garcia has something."

They gathered around the monitor as the impossibly perky blonde's face came into view. "Good morning my lovelies. Earlier today we were able to interpret e-mail from the man we've designated Unsub #8. It was sent to Unsub #3 and Tony Omera." She put an e-mail up on the screen.

_I hope you two don't plan to welsh on our bet. My boys win this weekend; I get Dolly and that new girl, Sunshine. If they don't make it, Tony, you get Tawni and Jerry, you get Petey. Give it up ASAP, boys; live feeds. Show me what you've got._

Spencer pulled out his pocket watch; it was 8:15 am. The time stamp on the email showed that it had been sent less than an hour earlier

Garcia kept going, "So the trafficking team decided that this was the best response."

_You'll have to wait until 5; the FDIC is still on my ass._

"Which generated this reply:"

_Yeah, yeah, yeah. If it's not up by 5:30 the bet's off._

"And it looks like we have live feeds coming in now."

They stared as two windows opened on the screen. One showed a blond woman and a pale, dark haired man, both with their hands tied behind their backs. A voice was heard indistinctly, and then the woman began performing oral sex on the man.

In the other window was Gwen.

His Gwen.

Spencer sat down, grateful that someone had stuck a chair under his ass. He sensed rather than felt JJ come over and start rubbing his shoulders, saying something that ought to be comforting. After a moment Garcia shrank the box down so all you could see was her face, and she cut the audio.

"If anyone really needs to see that let me know. If not it's being recorded for use in hanging the bastards." She looked away a moment. "Okay, facial recognition claims "Tawni" as Tamara Holdt, a legal aid from Sacramento who went missing three years ago, and "Petey" as Peter Rigelli, a musician who went missing from Seattle two years ago."

Hotch took over. "Now, we believe that "Sunshine" is Susan McNamara, a student nurse who went missing two weeks ago and was found in Omera's dungeon. At the moment the staff here is putting together a video we can stream 'live' after banking hours this evening to maintain our cover."

"So, what's the plan?" Morgan asked. "What boys are they referring to?"

JJ piped in. "Superbowl Sunday. I haven't heard the end of it in days."

Hotch looked over at Rossi, who looked grim. "If Omera wins then we hope that we can figure out how they are moving their victims. At least we'll be able to rescue another victim."

"And if he loses?" Morgan wanted to know. "We can't ask the victims to go back into that situation.

"We have yet to identify Ms. McNamara in any of the videos, they don't know her face. If he loses we get a volunteer to go in undercover as a victim, track them electronically, and take another Unsub out of the club."

"You know how dangerous that is? We lose the track and they could go through months of hell before we find them again."

JJ took a deep breath. "I'll do it."

Emily immediately shook her head. "No, you won't. I will. I have more training."

"Yeah, but there isn't enough bleach in San Francisco to get you blond by 5 o'clock. 'Sunshine' has to be in the video today. No, I'll do it. I want to do it." JJ looked over at Spencer, he needed one break in his life, just one, and she was going to give it to him. "Just, nobody watch the video unless you have to, okay."

Morgan just had to. "You mean we can't send a copy to Will?"

JJ rolled her eyes at him, and hugged Spencer from behind.

Spencer clung to her arms. "Thank you. Thank you," was all he could whisper.

"You deserve it." She whispered back, then turned to follow Peter into the studio.

------

Four days later the country celebrated the de facto holiday known as Superbowl Sunday.

Ten minutes after the game Tony Omera received an email

_Ha. Told you my boys would win. Leave the cars in the usual spots, I'll swing by and pick the girls up on Monday._

------

"I hope we're right about this." Rossi grumbled for the hundredth time.

There had been exactly one domestic car in the Omera/Bernard garage. When Garcia checked the onboard GPS they found that it went to one busy truck stop every few months and then back to the garage. The trunk turned out to have a special air feed, and to have been soundproofed. A nearby traffic camera revealed that it was taken there and parked in an out of the way corner for a day, then picked up after banking hours. They could only presume that is was used to transport the girls. They had no idea how the girls were packaged for transport, but a list of the inventory from Omera's torture room gave Peter some ideas. He's sent along some gear, and Magda, a member of his staff to help.

Magda was a woman somewhere between 30 and 50, British, polite, and very efficient. She billed herself as a full time personal trainer with an emphasis in yoga and a part-time Dominatrix. For the past four days she'd been working with JJ on some stretches and breathing techniques to make her confinement easier. At the moment JJ was sitting in the garage of the nearest police substation, wearing one of Morgan's old t-shirts and a blanket, finishing the last of her stretches while Magda prepared the 'costume', which started with some simple rope tying her ankles together.

Morgan came over, holding the electronics in his hands. "Okay, this controls the transmitter, the GPS and the microphones. Up is off, down is on. If he scans you for a bug, turn it off, then right back on so we can follow you. This other one is the panic button. If it all goes hinky just grab hold tight and the cavalry will be on its way."

"Got it." JJ put one in each hand, and tried them once, before putting her hands behind her back. Magda slid what looked like two long gloves up over her arms. The gloves ended in mitten ends, easily concealing what she was holding. Slowly, Magda started lacing the gloves both tighter, and together.

Morgan gently pressed something that looked like a hearing aid into her ear. "This will let you listen to us on the radio as we go. If you hear us asking for a response turn the transmitter off then on quickly. Got it?"

"Yeah." At Magda's command to breathe JJ took a deep breath in, and then let it out with a groan as Magda got her elbows to touch behind her.

"Now we're going to have one mike on this hood thing and another on the back of that glove thing. You won't be able to talk to us, but we'll be able to hear everything going on around you. Got it?"

JJ nodded, and then breathed again as Magda gave one last pull and stretched her shoulders back as far as they would go. "Oh this is going to suck."

"You're really rather flexible, love, you can take it." Magda almost cooed as she switched places with Morgan and started working on the hood. It was a series of straps that connected to a shaped leather face mask in the front that covered her mouth and cupped her chin. "Any last thing to say?"

"Yea, don't lose track of me." JJ allowed Magda to slide a short cylinder through a hole in the front of the mask and into her mouth. When Magda tightened the straps the pressure forced her teeth to bite down behind a small ridge, and the rubber gasket inside the mask formed a tight seal around her lips.

"Now, remember your breathing technique." Magda turned the knob on the small squeeze bulb hanging from the front of that cylinder and began to pump. JJ felt the cylinder inside her mouth began to inflate, pushing against her tongue, forcing her cheeks and chin tight against the mask, and finally filling the back of her throat. She simply had to take long, deep breaths or she would gag, and if anything came up, she would choke. When she was finished Magda unscrewed the bulb, leaving JJ in a neat, black mask.

The electronics were in place, and Morgan and the other men stepped away to let Emily and Magda complete the preparations. Emily shook her head as she looked down. The long glove contraption forced her friends shoulder's back and her chest out, and the slow, deep breathing only made her breasts that much more inviting, even through the t-shirt. "Just remember, we are right behind you. We're not going to let you go." JJ nodded, and so Emily cut off the t-shirt and took the blanket.

Naked as the day she was born, JJ was shivering slightly as Emily and Magda eased her into the trunk and shut the lid. It's not just fear, she thought, you don't realize how much it matters until you have to wax everything below the neck. Will better enjoy it while he can; she thought, because that is so not happening again. She distracted herself with the thought of the look on his face when she got home while she felt the car start, and move down a ways and around a handful of corners. Then it was parked, behind a storage shed at the truck stop, she knew, and she was alone.

Well, not so alone. Through the speaker in her ear she could hear people getting into position. It sounded like Rossi was in the truck stop, watching the people there and her through the window. He had the kidneys that were used to long stake-outs and endless cups of truly bad coffee. Hotch was with one group of local PD in one direction, Morgan in another, and Emily in still another, ready to follow from any route. They had left Spencer a ways away, with the operations vehicle, more because his knee was still tricky than because they thought his emotions might get the better of him. Or so they told themselves.

And so they waited. And waited. Her shoulders began to ache, she was getting thirsty and hot, and her imagination was beginning to kick in. What exactly had she been thinking anyway?

And then:

Morgan: "Head's up people. That red SUV is heading toward the shed."

Hotch: "I think I see writing on the side. Rossi, can you get a look at it?"

Rossi: "Yeah, it says 'Eden Oak Winery.'" He called out a license plate

Hotch: "JJ, it looks like the unsub is at your location. Respond."

JJ flicked the transmitter off and on.

Hotch: "Got you JJ. Here we go."

After an endless moment the trunk opened. JJ blinked into the sudden light and found herself looking at a middle-aged Caucasian male of average height and build, with salt-and-pepper hair. Plaid shirt, she thought, green barn jacket, blue jeans. Okay, I can describe him if need be. I know his face now.

"Godamm it Tony." The Unsub muttered, and the trunk was closed again. JJ's heart started beating wildly, what had gone wrong?

A moment more and the trunk opened again. The unsub threw a scratchy cloth over her, a blanket she realized. Then she felt herself lifted and moved into another vehicle. Not a trunk, she realized as she heard a door close. She rubbed her head around, moving the blanket until she could just get a peek past it. I'm in the back of an SUV, she thought, and the privacy shield has been pulled in place. She couldn't even see the sky.

Then she felt the vehicle pull away.

**Nowhere**

_Could not bear it_

_Not one moment more_

_Heart racing_

_Pounding_

_Hurt_

_Not _

_One_

_Moment_

_More_


	14. Chapter 14

**The Cavern**

**Here**

Not long after they started moving JJ heard Reid relaying back the information on the man driving. Peter De Brandon, 37, owner of Eden Oak Winery. The more Garcia found the more he fit the profile, new money, expectations of power, in an industry where he ended up serving those he considered beneath him.

Great, JJ thought.

As they stopped at a stoplight JJ heard a familiar crackle and sound coming from the front seat of the vehicle. Then:

Rossi: "What is that?"

A moment's pause then:

Hotch: "It's a police scanner."

And then there was nothing. Nothing at all.

They turned off the radio, she realized, so the unsub wouldn't be able to listen in. But now they can't hear me either. And I have no idea where they are…..

Time passed. JJ felt the vehicle go from the slow, jerky movements of city traffic to the long, monotonous speed of the highway. Eventually they turned off, and she felt the stop and go of community traffic. That slowed, more time between stops, longer curves, train tracks, and eventually up and down hills. We're heading out into the countryside, she thought, the foothills. They will lose me out here if they haven't already. And what will these unsubs do to me? How will I survive this?

She began to mentally review everything she had seen in the few tapes she had watched. The key is to relax, she thought, don't fight it. Play along and it might be bearable. It's not like you haven't been with a man before, and Will will understand. But, if they realize we're on to them, will they kill off the evidence? I don't want to die. I don't want to die.

They stopped, and JJ felt the unsub get out of the car, while he left the motor running a moment later and a familiar syrup smooth voice sounded in her ear. "We've got you JJ, we got the place surrounded. Just hang in there, all right? As soon as…" JJ heard the mike cut off as the unsub got back in and drove forward over something that rattled hard. Cow grating, she thought, he's opening and closing a gate that's usually left open. The unsub stopped and as soon as he got out to close the gate she heard Morgan again. "As soon as we see what building he goes to we'll be right in after you. Respond." They must be able to see me JJ thought as she clicked the transmitter off and on, they're that close. Okay. "Good girl. Just sit tight,"

She felt the unsub get back in and they started moving. A few more slow curves, and then a long downhill, then he paused and idled. She heard a click that was hauntingly familiar, but she didn't place it until she heard the squeal of metal on metal outside. Garage door opener, she thought, we're going into a space underground, which will block the signal…..

She felt the car roll forward, and then heard the door closing behind her.

------

"We lost the signal. What the hell happened?" Morgan called out over the secure link, concern turning to anger in his voice.

No one knew until Reid piped up from the ops van. "According to their website Eden Oak winery has a 46,000 square foot underground cellar complex."

Rossi whistled.

Hotch frowned. This was going to take longer than he liked. "Okay, Reid, send everyone the schematics of the complex. We're going in."

------

JJ felt the car stop, the engine shut off. It had been echoing for the past few moments, as if they were in a vast cavern. When the back gate opened she saw that they were in a vast cavern, one lined with rack after rack of wine barrels. Underground cellar, she thought, and huge.

"Good morning, Sunshine." The unsub said as he looked her over. JJ felt her flesh crawl as he ran his hands over her unprotected body. "Mmm-mmm, Tony does have taste." She watched him as he went and brought over a low, metal cart. A bag from a grocery was taken from the back and placed on it, and then she felt herself lifted and dumped onto the cold metal like so much produce.

He rolled the cart down one long hallway after another, mostly smooth and industrial plain, lined with barrels down at her level. Sometimes she caught a glimpse of antechambers, other small rooms that had a medieval flair, utterly disconcerting in this situation. Other times there were closed doors, which was even more distressing. The team is going to have to clear every room as they go, she realized, I'm going to have some time with this man.

They stopped. A door was unlocked. She was wheeled through. The side she was facing was a small kitchen or lab set up. It was similar to what they had found in the other chambers, a place to prepare food, medication, or other material needed to control and care for their victims. Craning her head she saw not kennels, but open places in the floor. It would be like being trapped in a coffin, she thought. She watched him take the bag to the kitchen, and stop to check something on a computer there. "Still no specs on this one? Jesus, Tony, what did you do?" He shook his head and moved around the corner. He must think the FDIC is still watching Omera. We still have a little time. The unsub wandered a bit in that kitchen area before coming back to her. "Well Sunshine, we'll have to experiment with you a little later." With that he pulled her off the cart. She landed hard on one hip and used the move to roll to the other direction.

This time she found herself looking into a medieval torture chamber. Come on guys, get here, she thought. Yes, those were instruments on the walls, yes, those were whips. Yes, that was really a rack over there, and that was really a gaol chair. And that, she realized, is someone shackled to that wall, with her arms above her head. As the unsub moved around to the chamber the captive opened her eyes. JJ caught a flash of cobalt blue before the unsub blocked her view. Found you, she thought. Now they just have to find us.

She looked over the unsub, realized he'd taken off his coat, realized there was a Glock on his hip. That was a disturbing development. Then she heard the sound of a zipper, and a mew of distress, and the unsub murmur with pleasure. JJ turned her head and closed her eyes; this wasn't something she wanted to see.

------

The complex was enormous. Hotch, Morgan and Emily had each taken a team of local SWAT through one of the three entrances and were now going through each nook and cranny one by one. To say that it was daunting, tedious work was an understatement.

Officially Reid and Rossi were outside with the ops van because Reid was still limping on his knee, and Rossi was, in his words, too dammed old for this shit. In reality they didn't want Reid to see whatever they might find. And no one was going to argue with Rossi.

Morgan turned down one hallway full of open chambers to another, this one full of doors. Good crap.

------

"Ow!" JJ's eyes flew open at the unsub's sound of pain. "Goddammit, you really haven't learned any manners." He zipped up and crossed the room, coming back with some kind of whip, lots of strings hanging from a handle. With full force he lashed out against his captive, and her cries reverberated through the room.

------

Morgan was about to enter the third room when he heard the sound of a whip and a scream coming from the double doors at the end of the hallway. He held up his radio. "Found 'em. Hallway E36. We're going in."

------

The unsub laughed as he tore her flesh with the whip. We knew they were sadists, JJ thought, we knew they enjoyed the suffering of others. But how can he keep laughing?

Just then the door flew open and JJ heard the most heavenly sound of her life. Morgan. "Federal Agents! Hands in the air!"


	15. Chapter 15

**The Hospital**

**Here**

The unsub turned and drew. Morgan felt time slow down, his vision narrow to just the unsub and the gun. He called out to the man "Put the gun down!" but the unsub fired, and Morgan felt the bullet go over his shoulder and into the hallway behind.

Then one of the local cops with him fired back. The unsub dropped to the floor.

As the unsub fell Morgan's field of vision re-expanded. He spotted JJ on the floor, looking unhurt, but the other figure in the room caught his attention She'd stopped fighting, and had gone rigid against the iron shackles that held her wrists to the wall, her back bowed off the surface. When he got closer he saw that her eyes were rolled back in her head, she was trembling, and breathing hard. He turned to the other cops in the room. "She's having a seizure! Get the medics now!" Just as he turned back he heard her wrist snap against the unforgiving iron. As he went to free the other he felt it break under his fingers. Then she gasped and slumped. "No, you do not!" He called out to her as he felt for a pulse. "You do not!" The medics had hallway to cover and there was nothing. "No. No." He tipped back her head and cleared her mouth and breathed for her and then tried again and. "No. No. No." There was no help for it. She was covered with bruises blossoming under her skin, with fresh cuts seeping blood, but there was no help for it. He planted his hands in the middle of all of it and felt most of her ribs break as he began to pump her heart.

It seemed like forever, but later Morgan would find that it was all of three minutes before the paramedics were there, telling him to keep going while they worked. He heard the monitor start up, start beeping in time to his movements. He saw them put the pads down, heard the spooling whine. But they still had to shove him away when they were ready and "Clear!" and she jumped and he heard the beep that meant that her heart had started beating on it's own.

One of the locals stuck his head in. "Chopper's outside." They all got out of the way as the paramedics got her, the victim, Gwen, Spencer's Gwen onto a gurney and whisked her away.

Morgan finally looked over. Rossi was holding up a blanket so no one could see JJ. Emily was stepping out from behind it, holding the tattered remains of her bonds, which had clearly been cut free. And Hotch was just coming into the room after coordinating things outside.

"Morgan, go get Reid and drive him to UCLA Medical, the chopper is heading that way. JJ, I want you going there as well to get checked out. No arguments. Emily, you go with her. Dave, you're here with me."

Morgan nodded and headed for the vehicle.

-----

Waiting was the hardest part. Spencer paced back and forth beside the ops van. He'd heard the call for medics, the communication between them and the chopper, between the chopper and the hospital.

Her heart stopped.

Her heart _stopped_.

He wanted to run to her a hundred times, just to be there, just to have one more moment with her. Just one. But every time there was someone to pull him back. Do not go down there man, you don't want to go there, stay out of the way.

And so he paced. And fidgeted. And at times might even have rocked. There had to be a way out of this, to fix this. There had to be something. He just had to think. Why couldn't he think?

The chopper flew away and his heart sank. Did he lose his chance? Did he?

Then one of the SUV's roared up and Morgan was leaning out. "Get in! We're going to the hospital."

Reid ran.

------

"They said we could use this consultation room. It's more private." Morgan steered Spenser into the smaller side room.

"Private is clearly a relative term." Spencer muttered as the room slowly filled up with cops, most of them conspicuously not looking at him.

"Well, they're keeping the press out." He found a place to sit, tried to get Spencer down, gave up. "How're you feeling?"

"I don't think I am feeling at the moment." Spencer found a bare chunk of wall and leaned there, the eye of the hurricane, hanging in space and time.

After a long moment Morgan had to, well, confess. "I had to hurt her, man. I'm sorry."

"What do you mean?" Spencer couldn't conceive of his friend hurting anyone most days.

"I had to do CPR. She was already torn up pretty bad; I know I made it worse."

Spencer just blinked at that. "You saved her life, everything else can be fixed." After a moment's pause, "Thank you."

"Yeah, well, I'm going to help you fix it, if I can."

"I'd appreciate that. I think she would too."

The team slowly assembled to wait with him, to buffer him, he realized, Rossi and Hotch, then finally Emily and JJ. He watched as Hotch met JJ just inside the door. "Are you okay?"

JJ nodded. "Yeah, a few bumps and bruises; I may have pulled a muscle in my shoulder a little, but some ice and I'll be fine."

"That's not what I'm asking."

JJ looked Hotch right in the eye. "It was terrifying and I never want to do it again, but yeah, I'm going to be all right."

"Good." He looked around at the rest of the waiting room. "There hasn't been any word."

"That's a good sign, right?"

"I hope so."

JJ was the first one to actually approach Spencer. He looks so gone, she thought, like he's hanging somewhere between here and time. She walked over and put her arms around him to tug him back to earth.

It didn't help. Spencer looked down on her from some great distance, saw his arms go up and around her shoulders. "Thank you for doing that" he heard himself say.

"I'm glad we found her. I think it was just in time."

A doctor stepped into the room and called out "Gwen Reid." Spencer felt himself floating in the doctor's direction, gently pushed by the hands of his friends. He listened for a while, catching phrases and words, 'dehydrated', 'underweight', 'kidneys nearly shut down', 'possible brain damage'. None of it made any sense, the Gwen he knew was strong and healthy and smiling at him somewhere. Maybe she could make sense of it all. "Can I go in and talk to her?"

The Doctor smiled very patiently. "No, Dr. Reid. As I just said, we're using therapeutic hypothermia to reduce cerebral injury after her cardiac arrest. As a result we've had to medically induce a coma. She'll be deeply sedated for the next twenty-four to thirty-six hours, after that we'll be able to assess her condition. Granted the EEG we'll run in the morning to determine if she's still having seizures will also help determine any indications of brain damage."

"You can't tell from looking at her?" Rossi wanted to know.

"No, we've had to administer a paralytic as well as Demerol to prevent her body from shivering to try to warm itself. We've also administered Propofol for anxiety and Morphine as a sedative." The doctor looked over at Spencer. "Don't worry Dr. Reid, she's not in any pain. They're moving her to an ICU room on our secure floor now, you can go in and see her in just a few moments."

"Oh. Thank you." That was the right thing to say, wasn't it? The doctor nodded and smiled and eventually moved away. A few moments later he heard Morgan say "Come on, kid" and rather felt like he was a balloon, and his friend was tugging him down the hallway.

Here we go, Morgan thought, as he guided his friend down the hall. Now he has to see it, now it all turns real. All the monsters we stashed under your bed are real and they took your girl away and this is what you get back. Time to face it. Then they turned the corner into her room. "Oh man…"

Spencer floated toward the side of the bed, felt himself touch down somewhere around the edge of the railing. The bed was in the center of a well-lit room, one with big picture windows on two sides. At the moment it was surrounded by a small army of machines and bags of liquids hanging off poles. They didn't even bother much with a gown, he realized, just draped something lightly over so as not to disturb the myriad of tubes and wires and the bandages that striped across her torso. They had put one IV in the side of her neck, or close to it, and were pumping in a thick, creamy substance. His eyes lit on that and refused to move.

"What is that?" Morgan whispered. He reached out and touched her arm, just about the splint there. She was cold, he realized, if it wasn't for the monitors showing her beating heart he would have thought he was touching a fresh corpse.

"Total parenteral nutrition. Parenteral nutrition is indicated to prevent the adverse effects of malnutrition in patients who are unable to obtain adequate nutrients by oral or enteral routes. She doesn't have enough protein or calorie reserves to heal so they're pumping it in as fast as they can. It also helps prevent refeeding syndrome, which result from a sudden shift from fat to carbohydrate metabolism and a sudden increase in insulin levels after refeeding which leads to increased cellular uptake of phosphate…"

"Reid!" He's not really communicating, Morgan realized, he's not looking at me and he's delivering facts like he was teaching in a lecture hall. He keeps putting his mouth on auto pilot to distance himself from everything around him. He grabbed the younger man's arm tight. "Tell me what you're thinking man. What's going on in there?"

Spencer looked over at his friend, true, deep fear in his eyes. "Cinnamon rolls. I'm…I was thinking about cinnamon rolls. You know, how they get plump when you bake them and…and how they smell. We…we used to make cinnamon rolls together, because she hated kneading the dough. And…and pancakes, whole wheat pancakes with real maple syrup because you might as well do it right, right?" He was shaking, he realized, and his voice was starting to break. "And…and this amazing sausage we'd get at this little butcher stall in the Farmer's Market. We'd have it every Sunday and when we'd go to the Market we'd come back with so many bags of fruit that they'd glare at us on the bus." I cannot do this, he thought, this hurts too much. "And every week we said we wouldn't, and every week we did. She…she ought to be having cinnamon rolls, you know, something to welcome her home." His face was wet. "Where did all that go, Morgan? I thought…I thought it was all coming back."

Morgan eased Spencer into the chair beside the bed before his legs gave out under him. There we go, he thought, welcome back to reality Dr. Reid. "It's not. I'm sorry. It's not coming back like it was. You're here now. This is real."

Spencer sank down, again grateful to find that someone had stuck a chair under his ass, and turned to the bed. Maybe if he could touch her, he thought, maybe this wouldn't all be real. He'd wake up and be back in that tiny apartment and this would just be another day. But his fingers found one open spot on her shoulder, and he just touched, and she was there and it was all real. He whispered, his voice breaking. "I don't know where you are right now. Are you with your grandparents? Are you home with me? I think…I think I'm going to picture you in Einstein's bed right now, because you liked it there. So you just stay there, okay? You stay there and rest a while. Don't come back yet. I love you, but don't come back yet. Stay where you are, it's too scary for you. Heck, it's too scary for me. Just stay there for now, let us fight for you. Just stay where you are until we make it better. And if you can't come back, that's okay too. Because you're safe now, and I love you. And I always will."


	16. Chapter 16

**The Beginning**

**2 hours after**

"Reid," Hotch kept his voice gentle and kind. He pulled over a chair and sat beside the bed with his friend, who was holding himself and rocking gently and not taking his eyes off his wife at all. If this were Haley in this bed, Hotch thought, I know how I would react to what I am about to ask. "We need to take pictures for evidence. And we need to run a rape kit. I'm sorry."

There is no point in imitating a howler monkey, Spencer thought, although right now I think I'd like to punch Hotch in the face. "You know, every instinct I have wants to keep everyone away from her."

"I know. I'm sorry. But the unsu…" Hotch stopped as Spencer stood up and pushed past him.

"Just get it done while she's still sedated. Please." He stopped to sign the forms on the clipboard the nurse was holding and then pushed his way out of the room.

Emily was the one standing by the door, holding the camera, stuck with the job no one wanted, while Morgan followed Spencer. She looked up at Hotch as he left, leaving her, Gwen and the medical staff there to help. "Oh, I hate this."

"I know. Be as thorough as you can, I'm not going to ask for another pass."

------

Spencer didn't even bother trying to be neat as he stood at the bathroom sink and splashed water over his face. Right now he just wanted to cool down so he could think. Please someone let me think.

Morgan followed him in. "You want to talk about it?"

"Not really." He poured the water over his face again and found the words coming out anyway. "I want it back, Morgan. I want it all back. I want my life back. I want my best friend back. I want the past five years of my life back. I want the girl I loved back. I want her back, Morgan. I just want her back."

"You can't get all that back, man, you know that. But she is here, with us. And she's safe and she's going to get better."

"You don't know that! Nobody knows that! Her heart _stopped_, Morgan! Right now they're keeping her sedated and pumping her full of ice cold salt water to hopefully, maybe stop the brain damage and keep it from happening again. I don't know that she's back; right now she's a shell. No, she's not even a shell, she's fucking evidence!" He found himself hauling off and punching the towel dispenser, and from a distance wondered why. Or why he was throwing himself against the wall, or why he was sliding down to sit on the floor, or why he was holding himself and rocking with the pain. Or why his face was so hot or why his face was suddenly wet or why he could taste the salt. "I just want her back, Morgan. I just want her back."

There was nothing Morgan could do but sit there with him

**12 hours after**

Before they left Hotch and Rossi stopped by to say good by. Hotch just stood there at the end of the bed, looking at her for the longest time. Finally he spoke, "Reid…I'm sorry."

"I understand." Spencer was quiet a moment, watching his wife. "I am truly sorry, Hotch."

"Thank you."

**18 hours after**

"So I started having these nightmares about two years ago…"

Morgan was sitting toward the back of the hospital room. They were taking shifts, Emily had gone to find the hotel, check them in and see about things like meals, laundry.

A little while later Emily entered quietly, sat beside him. "Rossi put the hotel room on his card. It's one of those business suite places; we have two bedrooms and a living space with a kitchen."

"Aw man. He shouldn't do that."

"I called him to tell him that, he told me to hush." She looked over at Spencer. "Has he slept yet?"

"Not yet. He just keeps going like a bunny with a battery."

"What's he talking about?"

"Gary Brendan Michaels. You missed Benjamin Cyrus. I never realized what was knocking around inside that mind of his"

Emily shook her head. "How come he never talked about this with a shrink from the Bureau? I mean, we have a critical stress debriefing protocol."

"I know. I'm thinking he was afraid they would see through his little one man play. So he analyzed them instead until they backed off."

"But now he's talking?"

"Yeah, I think he's reprocessing everything into real, including her."

**30 hours after**

"I'd rather not go." Spencer was almost clinging to the rail of the bed. He wasn't going to just leave her here.

"Spencer." Emily sighed. "Just for a little while. You've slept in those clothes for two days now. You're starting to smell like a yak."

"How do you know what a yak smells like?"

"Just go with Morgan. I will watch her like she's my own sister, you know that. And you might want to shave…."

"Actually I used to wear facial hair; I thought it made me look older. I want her to wake up to something familiar." Spencer nodded, went back to the bed for one moment. "I'll be back soon, love. Emily is right here, I trust her completely. You're safe, I promise." He kissed her shoulder gently and shuffled after Morgan.

Emily sat by the bed with a sigh. The doctor had suggested they keep talking to her, as a way to stimulate her mind towards coming out of the medication. "I hope you don't mind a cheesy romance." She opened her newest book and began to read out loud

Spencer stood there blinking the bright California sun. "Hey Morgan, am I on or off the clock."

"Hotch said that between medical and unused vacation time you have something like six months built up. You're off the clock until further notice."

"Good." Spencer pulled off his tie and shoved it into his pocket.

**32 hours after**

Emily looked up as Spencer and Morgan came back, and her jaw dropped. She vacated the chair beside the bed and whispered to Morgan as Spencer settled back in to talk to his wife. "What's with the young Johnny Depp? He has, like, muscles and everything."

"He said he was more comfortable that way." Pants that fit, a t-shirt that wasn't baggy, a black vest to hide the gun, even the scruff on his face. "I didn't even know he owned a t-shirt."

"So, this is integrating?"

"I think so. I think we're finally meeting the real Spencer. Reid."

Emily just pulled out her phone and sent a picture to Garcia. She and JJ had to see this. "The doctors came in while you were gone; she's off the medication to keep her in a coma. Now we just have to wait for her to come out of it on her own."

"I hope it's soon."

**Two days after**

Spencer brought in another flower arrangement and placed it on the counter across the room. While the room was beginning to resemble a flower shop, he only allowed a bowl of fragrant roses actually beside her bed. "This one's from the Physics department, sweetheart. They said they miss your chocolate chip cookies at the department meetings." He chuckled a little, "Dr. Parker's assistant asked if we were the ones from Einstein's bed."

"What about a bed?" Emily looked over where Spencer was speaking to Gwen. If he was rebuilding reality they needed to be part of it. He'd already forgotten that he was with the FBI once in the past two days.

"Einstein's bed, Gwen and I spent our wedding night in Einstein's bed."

Emily blinked at this. "Albert Einstein, the Albert Einstein? Wait, he's dead, right? He wasn't in it at the time." Love among the geeks, she thought, you can't be too careful.

Spencer chuckled. "Yes, of course he is…was…is dead. When he was visiting at CalTech he and Mrs. Einstein slept in a room at the Faculty Club house. Ever since then they've kept it as kind of a shrine. It's considered one of the greatest honors the club can bestow, to let you sleep in Einstein's bed. They let Gwen stay there two nights before the wedding, and then we spent our wedding night there. Um…" He was grinning, he couldn't help it. "Given that Dr. and Mrs. Einstein were older when they visited and everyone given the honor has also been rather elderly we were kind of known on campus as the couple who finally baptized Einstein's bed."

Emily was shocked. Spencer Reid? The Spencer Reid she knew? Having an entire college campus making a joke about his sex life? "But you didn't, did you?"

"Not exactly, but we weren't going to share that. I think the entire Math department would have been crushed."

"Wait, not exactly?"

"Well, Gwen wasn't involved."

Now Emily was shocked and laughing. "Spencer! You wanked off in Einstein's bed?"

How the hell did he end up in this conversation? "No! Well, kinda, but not really. What kind of a phrase is 'wanked off' anyway?"

"Kinda not really?"

Ahhhgh! "It's a big bed, and very…poofy and soft and…well, it's the kind of bed you just have to jump on and pounce on people. Gwen got out of the shower and I was trying to finish but then she came out and pounced and I couldn't…It was one of my more superhuman moments. One I rather regret now."

"Uh-uh, no regrets. As soon as she is up to it you are going right back there and having another go."

"Oh, I seriously doubt it; they'd never allow us the honor again."

"Are you kidding? I saw those three professors in here this morning, they were literally crying over you getting her back. I bet you wouldn't even have to ask."

"But…but…but I'm no longer a member. I haven't paid my dues in years."

"Well then we are going to march right over there and get you paid up." Emily looked up as Morgan walked in carrying his coffee. "Derek, sit with Gwen for a while. I'm going to run Spencer over to CalTech so he can pay his faculty club dues. That way he and Gwen can live up to their reputation and actually have sex in Einstein's bed."

"I beg your pardon?" Morgan just stood there, coffee in hand, blinking at the two of them. "Oh you have got to tell that story when you get back." He called after them. "This I gotta hear."

**Nowhere**

_She hated leaving._

_It was beautiful here._

_She'd spent countless time watching the jacaranda pollen dance in the slanting morning light. Little motes of brilliant gold floating on the currents of air._

_But it was time to go._

_She pulled up the covers._

_Made the bed._

_It wouldn't do to leave this room untidy._

_She hated leaving._

_But it was time to go._

_She promised Spencer she'd meet him for breakfast._

_She could smell the coffee from here._

**Two days and one hour later**

Gwen Ryder Reid rolled her head until it was full in the sunlight. Then she opened her eyes, and smiled.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

**UCLA Medical center – Secure floor.**

**Two days and one hour after**

Later, Derek Morgan would say that he had no idea what made him look away from his magazine at that moment. But he did, and he found himself looking at a pair of cobalt blue eyes looking into the sunlight. He kept his voice very calm, quiet and gentle, just like Reid had told him. "Well, good morning."

His voice seemed to break whatever spell the sunlight had over her. Her eyes flicked to his face, then away as her smile fell. Then her eyes darted quickly around the room as she lifted one arm and hit herself in the chest. Then the other. That was a bad idea, she was wearing rigid splints from the knuckles to mid-forearm on both sides, and she had multiple broken ribs from the CPR. "Oh, no. Don't wanna do that." He reached out to gently take her arms and stop her only to have her make a faint peeping sound of distress and cringe away. "Shhh, shhh, its okay. No one's gonna hurt you. It's okay." He watched her curl up in a fetal position, and start rocking slightly against the bars of the bed.

While the nurses came in to check on her he moved away and got out his phone. "Hey! Someone's awake….no, she's not talking….hold on…" He crouched down beside the bed and tried to look the girl in the eyes. "Hey little sis, can you tell me your name. Hmmm?" No response. He went back to the phone. "Nothing. She's not even looking at me. Okay. Okay."

Morgan looked over at the nurses by the door. "Her husband is on his way back. He suggested we just keep everything very quiet until he gets here."

After a discussion over at the main desk one of the nurses came in. "If it's any help, her heart is still good. She's hanging in there. But she has to stay quiet; we can't risk her getting agitated. If it gets to be too much we'll have to sedate her again."

"He's on his way back, just give him some time."

**Two days and ninety minutes after**

Morgan wanted to stop Spencer, to warn him. He'd spent the past half hour watching his friend's wife rock, twitch and occasionally try to hit herself in the chest with her splint covered arms, not speaking and not making eye contact with anyone. He was waiting in the hallway when Spencer and Emily came running in. "Wait, Reid! Stop a moment." Spencer stopped. "Kid, it…it doesn't look all that good. I don't think she's in there."

"What do you mean?" Spencer Reid's expression turned from joy to fear as he dodged around his friend and into his wife's hospital room. He took one look at the small form huddled in the bed and…turned out the lights.

"Spencer?" Emily made it to the doorway, with Morgan right there, only to have him hold up a finger to be quiet, and motion for them to stay there. There was more than enough light coming in the windows to show him crouching beside the bed.

------

Spencer crouched beside his wife's bed, looked down into her face. She was in there, he knew she was. He reached over and started gently but firmly kneading what was left of the muscles in her shoulder. He didn't say anything; he just stayed there, calming her by staying calm himself.

After a long moment he was rewarded with a flicker as her eyes found his face. Then they looked again. Then again and she tipped her face upward in a way that used to mean that she wanted to be close, kisses, nuzzles. He kept his voice as low and quiet as he could, "No, you're going to have to work for it."

This time when her eyes came up they met his, and stayed. The look in them clearly called him an asshole, and pointed out that this was hard. She tipped her face to him again, begging him in her silent way to come join her in the quiet dark.

"No." He barely whispered. "I know you can do this. You know you have to." You have to, he thought, because I can't go in there and get you out. You have to break your own shell.

He waited and rubbed her back and breathed with her. Slowly, one arm came up and crept around his shoulders and she pulled herself up until she could nestle her head into the hollow of his throat. He felt her shudder and sigh and relax as she came home to him at last.

------

Morgan and Emily discretely watched through the monitor. They wanted to give the couple some privacy, but at the same time they wanted to be there in case it was that bad, and Spencer needed their support. Both were utterly thrilled to see Gwen finally embrace her husband. The look on Spencer's face in response was a mixture of joy and relief and gratitude so potent that it was almost pain. They could see the dampness on his face as he held her and buried his face in her hair.

"How the hell did he do that?' Morgan wanted to know. "I could have sworn she was catatonic."

"He's her husband," was Emily's reply, "He knows her better than any of us."

-----

"I missed you. God, I missed you," was all Spencer could say for the longest time. He held her tight and finally let the tears go. When they were spent, and hers had soaked his shirt he slowly slid up, taking her with him until he was sitting on the bed and she was resting against his chest and in his arms.

Then he looked at the camera and made a 'come here' gesture with his finger.

As he'd expected a moment later Morgan came in the room, followed by Emily. He quickly held a finger to his lips to quiet them. "I think she's going to be all right, but I'm going to need your help." He looked down and gently placed a kiss in his wife's hair and kept his voice deliberately quiet and slow. "Gwen, these are my friends Derek and Emily. They're here to help us. Why does your hair smell funny?"

"Man, are you sure she's all right?" Morgan watched as, from the safety of her husband's gently rocking arms, her eyes flicked to his, and then to Emily's, and then away. She repeated that a couple of times before giving just the tiniest nod of recognition.

"Yeah, I am. She just can't make words right now. She can hear us, though. You can, right?" Spencer's heart soared as he felt her nod her agreement against his chest. He was apparently right. "I knew you were in there somewhere." He murmured to her.

"May I?" Emily nodded toward a spot on the bed behind Gwen, not wanting to interrupt but…Spencer nodded and Emily quietly crept up on to the bed behind her, caught a lock of her hair and sniffed. "Hair dye, the washout kind."

"It's all right, little sis, you don't need to be stressed out." Morgan felt almost rewarded as she looked at him for the slightest bit longer this time. "You're safe here now; no one's going to hurt you."

"It's not just that. Being over stimulated in and of itself causes anxiety, and the hospital environment is inherently over stimulating." He used one finger to raise one of the tubes still running to her body. "I wouldn't be surprised if she didn't speak until after she was discharged."

"Is that why she's not making eye contact?" Emily wanted to know.

"It could be, but in her case it's usually because she finds direct eye contact with someone she doesn't know very well to be too stimulating. She's instinctively trying to calm herself down. That's why the rocking, it help as…hey, stop that." He gently caught Gwen's wrist as she tried to batter herself in the chest again. He felt a shudder go through her frame. "What's wrong?"

"She was doing that earlier." Morgan informed him, "You know, she still has broken ribs under there."

"Yeah, I know. No, stop." Spencer had to grab Gwen's wrist again. She made a little mew of distress and shook her way back into his arms. He gently looked down the front of her hospital gown and for a moment his face tightened in pain. "I think there's antibiotic ointment under there. I'm sorry; you just have to put up with it for now." She mewed and shuddered again and he pulled her back in close.

"What is it?" Morgan wanted to know.

"Sensory processing problems. She doesn't tolerate the sensation of anything that's thick or sticks on her skin well at all. I think she was trying to rub the ointment off." He felt her nod against his chest again. "She might relax more once I can get her into the shower, but I don't think they'll let her until her heart is stronger."

"That explains a lot of the new video we found." Emily joined in, "They must have realized that, and found an effective, harmless method of torture."

"Oh, lovely." Spencer couldn't help the sarcasm as he felt the figure in his arms nod in agreement and shudder with the memories. "Shhh. It's not going to happen any more. They even have your favorite soap in the gift shop. As soon as you're strong enough we'll get you cleaned up. Promise." He smiled as that promise got him a little purring sound of pleasure.

They sat in silence for a while and then Morgan spoke up. "You know, we're going to have to call Hotch. She's the only witness we have. Susan McNamara was only there for a few weeks, and the others aren't in any shape to help. And time matters, they still have captives."

"I know." Spencer pressed his face against his wife's hair again. "But I don't know when she'll be able to talk again." He looked down again as he felt and heard her take a deep breath, wince, and blow it out slowly. She did it again and again, and he found himself doing it with her.

"What are you doing?" Morgan wanted to know.

"It's a deliberate calming technique to reduce anxiety. She used to use it when her brain slipped out of gear before she had to go up on stage for a lecture. It usually helped." Spencer rested his cheek on her hair and kept breathing with her, comforting her.

"I hope it works." Emily looked at Morgan and sighed.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

**UCLA Medical Center – Secure floor**

**Three days after.**

The next morning Emily was off shift, and had gone shopping both for clothing for Gwen and just because it was LA and one had to shop. Spencer and Morgan were sitting in the hospital room, playing chess. Gwen was napping after a truly savored breakfast of a popsicle and a glass of juice.

At least they thought she was napping.

"Ssssss."

Morgan looked at Spencer when they heard a sound coming from the bed, but they both ignored it. Let her move at her own pace, Spencer had said; don't notice anything odd, it would only make her more uncomfortable. He moved, and then Morgan moved his knight.

"Mmmmmm." This was clearly a groan. Spencer moved, Morgan moved and "Uhhhh" could only be a sound of disgust.

Spencer looked over at the bed, finally, where those achingly familiar blue eyes were clearly watching the board. "Do you think you can do better?" After a few moments he was rewarded with a slow nod.

Morgan smiled as Spencer met his eyes. "I concede. Go ahead."

Morgan moved the board as Spencer helped Gwen slowly sit up, moving the bed so she could rest back against it. "Now, how do you plan to do this?" Both her wrists, broken below the joint and dislocated as well, and with sores where the restraints had worn away skin, were bandaged and in splints. Eventually, when the sores healed over enough to allow it, they would need casts, then perhaps surgery and then ample rehab before she could use her hands again.

Gwen slowly scooted over to one side, then looked up at Morgan, and actually met his eyes for a long moment. Then she smiled, just a little, and thumped the bed beside her.

Morgan blinked. "Seriously?" He watched Gwen thump the bed again, and looked over at her husband, who just shrugged. "All right, little sis." He settled in beside her, one leg hanging off the bed, really realizing just how tiny she was. Spencer sat on her side of the bed, down by her knee, facing her, and the battle was on as they waited for her to make the first move.

Gwen breathed in and blew out, in and out, calming herself and her breathing, trying to slow everything down even more. She had to do this; she simply had to be able to speak again. Eventually, on one breath out, "Pawn to e4"

Spencer felt his smile slowly growing. Her voice was softer than he remembered, much softer and huskier as well. But it still sounded like her, just like what he had heard in his heart for so long. "Morgan, you do know algebraic notation, right?"

"Yeah, sure." Morgan had just been surprised to hear that the little thing next to him had a voice. He shook it off and moved the pawn, and watched her look at her husband with a slow smile and a vicious look, one that her husband mirrored. "This is gonna be cut throat chess, isn't it?"

"Oh yeah," Spencer moved his pawn to e5 to counter hers, and waited.

Breathe and breathe and, "Knight to f3"

The game continued until breathe and breathe and "Pawn to d4, checkmate."

"I don't believe this." Spencer was grinning and shocked at the same time. "Less than 48 hours out of a coma and she's already beat me."

"Oh, yeah!" Morgan was clearly thrilled but trying to keep it calm and slow. "It feels good to finally win one against the genius."

Gwen smiled and settled back against the bed, already tired. "Not much else to think about."

"You've been playing chess against yourself all this time?" At her nod Spencer looked over at Morgan. "I'm so screwed."

Morgan just chuckled. "I'm going to go call Hotch." He headed out of the room, mostly to give them some privacy.

Gwen looked at Spencer from under lowered lids. "I missed you too."

Spencer smiled "Can I kiss you?"

"Mmm-hmmm. They never did."

"Never?" Spencer scooted forward, moving the table out of the way, so he could lean over and gently find his wife's lips.

"Mmm-hmm." She'd missed this, the taste of him, the scent of him. She felt so safe like this, so very much home.

"Well, I'll have to make up for that." He gently nuzzled her temple as her eyes drifted shut. "I have to make up for a lot of things."

"Mmm-hmmm" She sighed. "Tired."

"Go to sleep." He whispered. "I'll be right here."

**Three days and six hours after.**

Morgan looked up as the rest of the team assembled in the hospital lobby. As soon as he had called to tell them that Gwen was talking Hotch, Rossi and JJ flew back out to LA.

"Has the doctor cleared her for an interview?" Was the first thing Hotch wanted to know.

"As long as she doesn't get too tired or agitated. Our best bet is probably going to be short interviews with breaks in…what the?" Morgan spun around as alarms started going off, and nurses started heading for Gwen's room. He beat them there and found her curled up in a ball on the bed, rocking herself, and making small noises of fear. Not knowing what to do he crouched down to eye level like Spencer did, and motioned the nurses to hold off with the drugs, just for a moment. "Hey. Hey. Easy little sis, easy. It's okay, it's okay. Just try to tell me what's going on. Just talk to me, all right."

Gwen didn't meet his eyes, but her eyes went to Morgan's face and stayed there. Her voice was the faintest husky whisper. "D…d…don't l…l…let him get Sp…sp…sp…sp…Spencer. Please!"

"No, no, now, no one's gonna hurt Spencer or you. I promise, I swear. Now, who are you worried about? Who did you see?"

"H…H…H…Him."

"Who?"

Her eyes just flicked over her shoulder, "H…H…him."

Morgan stood up and looked out in the lobby. Unless someone had already come and gone the only people out there were the usual staff and the team. So it had to be either Rossi or Hotch.

Morgan pulled out his phone and snapped a couple of pictures just as Spencer came in. "What the hell?" He went over and crouched down to pull his wife into his arms.

"I think she caught sight of either Hotch or Rossi through the glass and it spooked her. Hang on." Morgan crouched back down and held up Hotch's picture. "Is this the guy?"

Gwen nodded, causing Spencer to smile. "No, that's not a bad guy. That's my boss, Aaron Hotchner. We call him Hotch. He can be kind of scary sometimes, but he's a great boss and an amazing dad. I think you're going to like him."

Gwen studied the picture for a moment. No, it wasn't Him. At first glance the resemblance had been remarkable enough, she thought He had found her, and worse, had found Spencer. "S..s…sorry. S…s… suit. S…same h..hair."

"It's all right. This kind of thing happens. Let's get you up so the doctor can check you out." While Spencer coaxed Gwen back up to a sitting position Morgan went out to inform the team.

"What happened?" Rossi wanted to know.

"It seems that Hotch here bears a remarkable resemblance to one of the missing unsubs. Apparently it's the suit." Morgan turned to Hotch with a perfectly straight face. "You might want to go casual the rest of the trip."

"It is LA." Hotch looked at him and Emily. "She's already comfortable with you. You and Prentiss do the interview."

------

In order to prevent any suggestion of influencing the witness Hotch told Spencer to wait outside during the interview. Along with Rossi and JJ the two of them gathered around the monitor to watch and listen in. "You know." Morgan had said to Spencer before he went back in, "When she thought the unsub was outside her room the first thing she asked me was to protect you."

Spencer blinked at that. "I wonder if they used a threat against me to control her. I'm her only family."

"Yea, but it was an empty threat. You're FBI, you practically live at Quantico."

"She didn't know that." Spencer went back to nibbling on a fingernail.

------

Morgan sat beside the bed, facing the small figure in it. It had fallen to him to conduct the interview, to dig out all the hard stuff. Emily sat off to one side, as a female witness. Spencer had told him to expect the rocking, that she would look at his face, not his eyes, that her voice was usually very quiet, that it would be best to be quiet, calm, and slow himself to keep her talking, that she would start to stutter if upset. But it was all still unnerving when it was just the two of them in this dance. "Okay sweetheart, why don't we start with your name."

Her voice was a soft, husky whisper. "Dr. Gwendolyn Ryder Reid."

"Do you know where you are right now?"

"UCLA Medical Center."

"Do you know what day it is?"

"No."

"Do you know what year it is?"

"2010."

"Okay. Do you know who the president is?"

"No."

"Okay. Do you remember the title of your last thesis?" It had been Spencer's suggestion, to prove that her memory was good.

"Some issues in high order numerical schemes for nonlinear Hamilton-Jacobi equations and other equations with higher order derivatives"

Morgan blinked and looked at Emily. "We're gonna have to get that translated later… Now, I need you to walk me through what happened the day you were taken. What were you doing that morning?"

"It was Sunday. We got up late, cooked breakfast together."

"Did either of you go out at all? Go for a run? Get the paper?"

"No."

"Was that the usual thing on a Sunday?"

"Yes."

"Okay. What's the last thing you remember doing?"

There was a long pause "Th…th..that's n…n…not your b…b…business."

Morgan looked over at Emily, who shrugged. "We need to confirm what Spencer told us."

"D…didn't t…t..tell them. N…Nnn…not…t…t…telling…y…y…y.."

On the other hand, he didn't want her to completely shut down either. "Okay. Okay. Can you tell us what room you were in?"

"The b…bedroom."

"Was Spencer with you?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Good enough. What happened?"

"The f…fire alarm went off."

"In your building?"

"No. On campus."

"Did either of you go see what it was?"

"Not yet."

"What changed your minds?"

"Someone was yelling that Sloan hall was on fire. Our of..offices were there."

"Did anyone who lived around you work out of Sloan hall?"

"N..no."

Morgan looked at Emily again. It confirmed Spencer's story, sounded like the fire was deliberately set to drive them out of hiding and provide a covering distraction. "So, you two went to see what was going on?"

"N..no. Spencer went. I s…stayed in bed."

"Why didn't you go with him?"

"Th…the fire alarm, I don't do well with loud noises."

"Did anyone else know that?"

Gwen nodded. "I…I did a lot of work with the autistic community on ck…campus."

"Okay. So your husband went to see what was going on, you stayed in bed. What happened next?"

"I heard a noise in the living room. I th…thought it was Spencer coming back."

"Was it?"

"N…no, there was anoth…another man there. He looked young, Hispanic, a working m…man. He had con…concrete on his p…pants. And a b…bandana over his f…face."

"What happened?"

"I…I rolled ov…over to get to the other door. I f..felt him land on on the bed behind m…me. He he grabbed me and some…something bit my neck. "

"You mean the man?"

"N…no. Like a bug."

------

Rossi turned to Hotch. "Weir would have had access to the Math building at all times. So he sets the fire and goes back to watch for Spencer to get out of the way. When he doesn't at first he starts yelling that their office building is on fire. He hires at least one helper to actually break into the apartment and subdue her."

Hotch nodded. "According to Gideon's notes the back fence of the complex was cut just behind their apartment and there was an access road on the other side. He sedates her, gets her out the glass door, through the fence and into a van while everyone else is distracted by the fire. While the hired help got the victim out Weir could have been setting the other fire in the building. Hispanic was a good choice; Weir could easily have paid him enough to disappear back into Mexico from there."

"And all the evidence goes up in the fires before the locals can even get there. All that's left is a raving, autistic husband."

Hotch nodded, "Except Weir couldn't know that Gideon was stopping by for breakfast."

------

Morgan paused for a moment while a nurse came in to check on her status "Okay, what do you remember next?"

Gwen frowned and signed and settled back into the pillows. "I woke up on a bed."

"Can you describe where you were?"

"It wasn't a very big room, but there was a fireplace, big windows, long green velvet curtains. The bed wasn't that big. It was dark; the only light was from the fire."

"Do you have any idea how much time had passed?"

"The clock on the nightstand said the same date. About 8 pm. So, ten hours."

"So this was later that evening?"

"Yes, I believe so"

"Were you still dressed?"

"I had my nightgown on. M…my wrists and m…mouth were t..t…taped."

"Did you see anyone there?"

"N…not at first. H…H…He came in about 30 minutes later.

"What did he look like?"

"D…dark hair, b…rown eyes, tan. Possibly His…hispanic. Ex…expensive suit. He'd be…been drinking."

Pretty close to Hotch, Morgan thought, except for the tan "Did you get a name?"

"N…n…no, never."

"All right, then what happened."

"He..he took off his coat and tie and rolled up his sleeves. He…he said that he..he was so glad that W…weir f…f…finally ful…fulfilled his p…p…promise. He…he c…came over to to the bed and pu…pushed up my night…night gown and s…said I was love…love…lovely."

"And then what happened."

Gwen sat there, rocking for a while. Long enough that Morgan thought he'd lost her. But then she spoke in a whisper even softer than before. "Th…th…then he …raped me."

------

At the nurse's station Spencer let out a long breath. He almost could have denied it up to this point, but now it was all horribly real. When he spoke he was very quiet and calm, "Guys, when we find this unsub, never leave me alone with him."

"No problem." Hotch replied. "I'm in."

"Same here," Rossi added

------

Morgan felt something droop inside. "I'm sorry, was all he said. "At any time did he do or say anything that might identify him. Did he have any marks or tattoos?"

Gwen was quiet a long moment more. "Nn…not on him."

"Not on him?"

"On…on…on me."

Morgan and Emily looked at each other. "May we look?" Morgan asked. Gwen shook, just a little, but nodded. He looked carefully away while Emily came and tucked back the bedding and hospital gown.

"Is this what you mean?" Emily asked, pointing to what looked like random pink scarring, raised and clear, just where her right thigh met her torso, just above the start of the v.

"Y…y…yes."

"Those aren't random scars?" Emily carefully tucked the gown for modesty sake as best she could and took a picture to send to Garcia.

"He…he s…s…said it was his f..f..family b…br..brand."

Emily looked up from the phone in shock, "Brand?"

Gwen nodded again. "He…he'd had the iron above the f…fireplace. He heat…heated it in the ck…coals."

Morgan frowned, "We didn't see that on any of the other victim's we've found so far."

Once again Gwen was quiet a long moment. "Th…they di…di…didn't bleed."

-----

After the others had gone to discuss what they had learned Spencer came back into the now softly lit room and sat on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry. I didn't want it to be like that, ever. That wasn't fair."

She made a little mewing sound, and tapped the bed next to her. He moved and she moved and eventually they were sitting with her nestled up against his chest. Gwen sighed and relaxed against her husband, utterly safe and content.

He looked down at where her head was resting, and realized she was listening to his heart. "You could have told them, you know, what we were doing that morning. It's nothing to be ashamed of." He murmured into her hair.

"Not ashamed. Didn't want to share."

Spencer took a deep breath. "I told them already."

"That's all right."

He held her and rocked her a while, as he felt her sigh a yawn or two. "We're going to fix all this. You watch."

"Mmm." That was clearly a negative sound. But her eyes were drifting shut and she was too tired to keep talking.

He wondered at the sound, as he held her as she fell asleep.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

**UCLA Medical Center – Secure floor**

**Four days after.**

"The computer was able to identify a pattern in the scarring." Garcia sent them a picture of what looked like a large fishhook or letter J, which was made into a cross at the top, and overlaid by a V. "I've run it past the brand books of every western state, no go."

"So where does that leave us?" Hotch asked.

"Looking for a rare book. According to the brand historian at the California Department of Ag the cross at the top indicates that the brand was probably associated with a land grant under the mission system, which means it dates from between 1789 and 1832. Surviving brand record books from that time are extremely rare. The Library of Congress was no help; we're trying pretty much every museum and historical society in California. When we find one we'll have to send agents to go scan it into the computer for comparison. That could be up to a six hour drive just to get to the book, and it might not even have the brand recorded."

Hotch sighed, that was going to take far too much time. "Keep me posted."

------

Emily and Morgan came into Gwen's room, just behind the nurse's aide. They had managed to scoot the bed closer to the windows, at the moment Gwen was mostly reclining against her husband's chest, savoring the sunlight. "You two look happy."

Spencer's eye's blinked open as he instinctively snuggled Gwen a little closer to him "Very." He looked down at Gwen as the nurse handed her a cup. "What is that?"

"Chocolate-peanut butter milkshake with extra protein and nutrients. Everything a healing body needs. Enjoy, honey." The aid smiled and placed it on the nearby table. "Can you handle the straw all right?"

"My god, that sounds rich." Emily commented as Gwen took the milkshake and looked it over

Gwen wrinkled her nose at the straw. "I think so. Thank you." She managed to hold the cup in place with one splinted hand while she tried it. "Most men are considerably larger than this." The thick, cold, sweet liquid was simply ambrosia. She had no doubt she would fill up quickly, but right now she felt like she could inhale a vat of the stuff and never be full.

"Most?" Spencer blinked at that.

Gwen shrugged.

Spencer turned to Emily, who was still shocked at what her friend was having for breakfast. "According to research done by Ancel Keys during World War Two when refeeding a patient after starvation the metabolism tends to speed up and burn off remarkably more calories than in a healthy individual, even with little or no activity. In order to prevent starvation psychosis and allow for actual weight regain you have to provide the patient with substantially more calories than their body mass would indicate. Right now they're hoping to get her up to a 4,000 calorie a day diet between food and parietal augmentation until her BMI gets over 16.5."

"Four thousand calories?" Emily turned to Gwen. "You have got to be kidding."

Gwen just shrugged again.

Morgan cleared his throat. "Can we start the interview, please?"

"Sure. Want me to put that back in the freezer until you're done?" Spencer slid off the bed so she could settle, reached over to take the cup and got a sharp rap with a metal splint on the back of his hand for his trouble. "Ow!" That hurt. "You know, food territoriality is unflattering in a higher order primate."

"I guess I'm not that evolved." Gwen murmured in her husky whisper.

"Neanderthal."

"You Cro-Magnons are soooo superior." She went back to her shake.

Rather than risk another rap, Spencer bent down and kissed his wife on the forehead before retreating to the monitor station.

Morgan and Emily sat down in the same places they had yesterday. He noted that Gwen was looking at him more today. They had noticed a pattern of her growing progressively more relaxed and 'normal' as time went on. She would regress a little when the hospital intervened for testing of some kind, but she slipped back less and recovered faster every time. Spencer's ongoing campaign of limiting stimulation seemed to be working. "Let's go back to the place where you were held before you got to the winery where we found you?" He asked.

Gwen nodded. "I think it was in the wine country."

"Under another winery?"

"No. A restaurant."

------

**Bella Carne Restaurant**

**Oakville, CA.**

**Four days and 12 hours after.**

Bella Carne was listed in the top 100 restaurants in the country. It was known for its wood-fired grill, the succulent roast meats that came out of its kitchen, and the fine and discriminating clientele that visited the best restaurants of the wine country. But this afternoon it would start to develop a new reputation.

"Federal Agents!" Morgan yanked open the door to the restaurant office, only to find the unsub, restaurateur Sal Trebecci, lying on the floor. Between the foam on his lips and the smell of his breath it was clear that he had taken poison just moments before. Morgan checked the dead man's pulse and shook his head.

Emily joined him in the office. Between what they learned from Gwen and what Garcia had dug out of the computers, they had finally found one more unsub. The team, minus Spencer, had flown up to the little town north of San Francisco to join the locals on the raid. Now she spotted the door behind the tall filing cabinet. "Morgan." The cabinet, which only looked heavy, easily pushed out of the way, and they cautiously made their way down.

They found themselves in another kennel, three cages to a side. This setup was clearly smaller, there looked to be only a wider space at the far end, with the computer and video set up on one side, and a small, impossibly clean kitchen at the other. As they moved down the row the figures in three of the cages moved to look back at them.

Morgan found himself looking at what might have been a young man at one time. Perhaps in his early 20's, in the prime of health and life. Now he was skeletal, all his bones clearly visible. He slowly opened dry, sticky eyes to look back at the agents, and then opened a mouth that no longer held any teeth, but he didn't make a sound. Morgan looked at the local cops in horror. "Medics! Get the medics down here, now!"

The BAU team retreated to the computer/kitchen area while the medics worked, getting the young man and two women, both equally wasted, out of the cages and into waiting ambulances. Once the room had died down Emily turned to the other two men. "Do you smell that?"

"Yeah, it smells heavenly." Morgan looked around for the source. "We must be picking up something from the kitchen."

"Not just picking up." Hotch crouched down and pointed to a grill on the wall at the back of one of the cages. "There's one in every cell. He's deliberately pumping air from the kitchen down here."

Emily had to almost go down on all fours to get into one of the cells. "And sounds as well, you can hear the dining room. Okay, why?"

"To torture his victims." Morgan was flipping through a binder at the desk. "According to Gwen he was only feeding them small meals every three days."

"So you have to smell all that and listen to people free and enjoying themselves while locked up and going hungry?" Emily came over just as Morgan was opening a container from the refrigerator. She gasped and they both recoiled. "What is that?"

"I'm guessing waste from the restaurant upstairs." He looked at another container. "I'm not opening this one, it's moving."

"It makes sense." Rossi came over, checked out a third container, and quickly closed it. "People don't come to restaurants like these because they want the food, they come to be seen by others as people of discriminating taste. To that end they are more than willing to question and even send back the food, just to prove their superiority. Which would make it difficult for the owner; restaurants have very thin profit margins, he'd lose money on every returned plate. And yet if he doesn't submit to the patrons and keep them happy at all times, his business suffers." Rossi looked around the room again. "Down here he could drive them into a frenzy of desire for his cooking, and then all but force them to eat his trash. And they'd be so hungry they'd enjoy it."

"And according to Gwen, even perform sexual favors on him or each other in order to get more of it." Emily sniffed another pitcher, turned green and put it back in the fridge. "No wonder she didn't want the chicken broth."

Rossi wanted to know, "That was when you gave me the sign to distract Reid from the monitor. Was that why?"

Emily nodded. "She said she wanted to tell him about that part herself. I can't say I blame her for that."

"Yeah, well, he's going to find out about this place now." Morgan looked confused. "So if we're assuming the Dominant in the team is the one who branded her, why did he send her here? Why did he send her anywhere?"

Emily shook her head. "According to her, he would say she was getting too 'plump', and that it was making her rebellious. Which, given that she was a size 4 when she disappeared, I find hard to believe."

"Remember, he's a sadist who likes seeing people suffer. But he also doesn't want to get his hands dirty." Hotch checked to see if he could get cell service down here. "He sent her here until she was weak enough to be easily broken. Then he brought her back to try to break her himself. When that didn't work he'd send her someplace else so another of his team could try."

"And he kept repeating the cycle, hoping to wear down her resistance." Morgan looked about in disgust "We know we're missing at least three dungeons from the videos. So, where are they?"

Hotch headed upstairs to make his call. "We still have to find that out."

------

**UCLA Medical Center**

**Four days and 14 hours after**

Spencer left the conference room where Garcia had been telling him what was going on and went straight to the nurse's desk. His inner mammal wanted to rend and tear the walls at the thought of what his beloved must have suffered in that place. Through all of this, really, but at the moment that one seemed fresh and impossibly cruel.

Thankfully, it was also fairly easy to make it right.

Not too much later he was standing in the door to her room. Gwen was still in a hospital bed, and still hooked in to too many wires and tubes, but the blinds were open, and she was curled into a sunbeam, a small smile of pleasure on her face. He cleared his throat and she turned her head and opened one eye to look at him. "I wish I could go get you that Black Forest pastry from T&Y you like, but they said no solid food until tomorrow." He held up a milkshake. "I hope chocolate-cherry with extra protein powder will do."

Gwen scooted over so he could share her sunbeam. "It sounds divine."


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

**UCLA Medial Center – Secure floor**

**Six days after**

Spencer came in and sat down on Gwen's bed. "I have some good news."

"They found the Bastard?" The Bastard. Him. The monster that started this whole, evil chain of events into motion. "Ugh, I can't even concentrate on a magazine article anymore."

"It'll get better. I promise." Spencer grinned. "The doctor said you're heart has improved, and all your cuts have healed over. You can have a shower if you want, you can be up that long."

Gwen forgot all about the magazine. She left it in her lap as she looked up and purred with pleasure. "Can I wear real clothes too?"

"Yes, JJ found some nightgowns for you. And I got your rose soap. And they have a person who volunteers here who will help you with your hair sometime this week."

"I don't know." Her hair had been her glory once, she'd taken pains to keep it just so, but now it was tangled and tattered, and she knew….

"You can decide after. We'll see how it looks when it's clean." He couldn't help but smile, it was so easy to make her happy right now; it was all he'd wanted to do for years. "Do you want me to help you, or the nurses?"

Gwen didn't exactly stop smiling, but she did get serious. "T…that's a t…tricky one. I'd…I'd rather you, but…"

"But?" Stuttering meant anxiety, Spencer knew that. Something about this bothered her.

She sighed. "I'm..I'm vain. I..I..ruh…remember being be..beu…beautiful. I…I…wh…wish you could see see me like like back th..then."

"You're always beautiful. You'll always be beautiful. When you're ninety you'll be beautiful."

"N..no, you don't un…under…understand. I…they…mmmm…" Gwen could feel her eyes filling with frustrated tears as her brain forgot how to form words again. How do I tell him, now, she thought, that I want to be nineteen and young and beautiful again before he looks at me? I don't want him to see this broken shell.

Spencer gently brushed the tattered lace of his wife's hair from her cheek. "Let me help you. I won't look like that until you let me. I promise."

With a helpless look, Gwen nodded.

------

I could stay here, Gwen thought, just let me stew. Or steam. Even with the awful light.

There had been an awful lot of complicated closing off of tubes and moving into wheelchairs and this and that. But eventually she found herself naked, sitting on a plastic chair in a large, tiled shower, one slowly filling up with steam from the showerhead. And it was only her and Spencer in here, which made it all right. She looked down at her hands, bandaged and splinted in place and entirely covered now in waterproof plastic sleeves, and wished she could cup her hands and pour the water over her face.

Thankfully her husband knew her well enough to be almost telepathic.

After summing up the situation he realized that the simplest thing would be to strip off and climb in there with her, the shower was build for a nurse to help a patient with limited mobility and so had ample room. But rather than be completely starkers in case of emergency he'd opted for his swim trunks. "Close you eyes." He took a pitcher filled with warm water and poured it over her head and face.

"mmmm…" Was all she could get out, but it was a purr of pure pleasure. Well, he was going to find out soon enough, she might as well relax and enjoy this as best she could.

"Let's start with the easy part." Spencer muttered. He took the shampoo and started gently rubbing it into her scalp. When he'd seen the bruises, starting to fade but still covering her torso, the scars, the cuts, the burns, that he could count her ribs and trace the bumps on her spine, he'd realized what she meant. But those would fade over time, or could be repaired, or both. For now he simply wouldn't…couldn't…look at her as he might have that Sunday morning. For now she was simply too…unwell. This was a shell she didn't quite inhabit correctly, but he knew, had to believe, that eventually it would fit her sprit perfectly again. After a long moment he realized…"Ewwww." the shampoo was turning to brown, muddy gunk in his hands. He hadn't realized her hair had been that dirty.

"Th…th…th…th..…sss…wh…wh..wha…wh…" Gwen shivered, the words simply would not come.

"Shhhh, it's all right. It's just the dye coming out." He felt her nod under his hands. "I should have anticipated that." Her hair had been different colors in the videos, and Emily said that acrid smell that had eventually faded had been dye. He soaped and rinsed and soaped and rinsed and eventually found that at some point much of her hair had gone a dirty, almost sour yellow-grey. "Whoa."

Gwen sighed. She could guess how awful she looked. "It…it h..h..happened at the f…f..farm."

------

**Willmen's farm**

**Trinity County, CA**

It wasn't only that they found the main torture ground for the Gentleman's club. It was that they caught two of them there, and hard at work.

Morgan came around the corner of the barn. One of the unsubs had this girl sitting on the top of the ladder. There was a camera running nearby. Her arms were behind her back, Morgan noticed, and there was something holding her head up. The unsub was installing some complicated thing involving her legs….

"Federal agents! Hands where I can see them! Get off the ladder!"

The unsub put his hands in view and slowly climbed down the ladder. Then looked back at Morgan, smiled, and pushed it over. Morgan watched in horror as in almost slow motion the girl dropped two feet and was hanging by her neck.

"Help!" Morgan ran over and grabbed the girl's legs, holding her up so she wouldn't strangle to death before his eyes. Behind him he could hear the unsub laughing, and then the sound of a gun being cocked….

"Drop it!" Rossi, and the best sound Morgan had heard in a long time. The unsub swung around and pointed at the older man, who fired and dropped him where he stood. Then he ran over and got the ladder. "We got her. We got her." Between them they managed to lower her to the ground.

Around them they heard the rest of the team and the locals calling for medic after medic after medic…..

------

**UCLA Medial Center – Secure floor**

"Th…they kept trying d…different dye colors on…on it. I c…can only i…im…imagine th…that I l…look like a h…hag."

Once all the dye was out Spencer came around and crouched down to below eye level, the better to look up at her face. "It's okay. You can dye it back to the way it was" He said in all earnestness.

She shook her head. "S..sp…sp…"

"Shh, it's all right. Just ask that hair person. I'm sure she can fix it for you. Back to normal in no time." He stood up and found the soap and a cloth. "Errr, how do you want to do this?"

Breathe and blow, breathe and blow. We can talk about this later. She shook her head and held up her arms. "J…j…just start somewhere. It's not like I can hold the cloth at all."

He started gently with her face, rinsed it well, before starting just above one cast, with the intent of working across her body to the other. "I would assume when you're better nourished you'll start growing body hair again. I don't know how we're going to take care of that with the casts on."

"Don't assume. They did electrolysis."

"What is that? It doesn't sound like it fits the context."

"They took a small needle, ran it down each hair shaft, and killed the root with an electric charge."

Spencer winced. He couldn't see any hair below her neck. "That sounds impressively painful."

"It was. You never realize how many tender places grow hair. I'm afraid it's permanent, so I hope you like the look."

He shrugged. "It's you, that's all that matters."

------

**Willmen's farm**

**Trinity County, CA**

Hotch moved into the last room of the farmhouse. He found the unsub sitting at a desk, wearing headphones, his back to the door, the computer running one of those videos. "Federal Agents!" He said loud enough to be heard. "Hands in the air."

As the unsub slowly raised his hands Hotch stepped forward. What he saw on the desk made his heart drop. Because the phone had a speaker option.

And it was on.

------

**UCLA Medial Center – Secure floor**

He continued to work for a while, filling the steamy hot shower with the scent of soap and roses, trying to not exactly look at what he was doing, until all that was left was what he wanted to avoid. He gently pressed a kiss to her soap covered knee. "I don't want to hurt you." He murmured.

For one long moment her heart ached. She wanted to run her fingers through his damp hair to comfort him in this, but her fingers were trapped behind bandages and metal. "You can't."

"That's not what I mean." No, he thought, I am quite capable of being cruel. I know I'm capable of that.

"Yes, but that is what I meant. I m…mu…mean…" breathe and blow, breathe and blow, I will get this out without stuttering. "I..the nurses…have been..been helping me and…I just really don't…fe..feel anything…there…anymore."

"Oh." Not fair, his heart cried, not fair. "We should get that looked at." He worked quickly and finished the job at hand. Then he found the shower head. "Close your eyes." He said as he rinsed and rinsed.

"Yes," Then there was movement and a tug or two, and not much else, and then there was hot water everywhere. "Ohhhh." It was heaven, to be warm and clean and soft again. "Oh, you have no idea.."

Spencer just smiled. There is that, he thought, but then there is this and we can do this, we may just have to get creative somehow. "I can imagine." Once there was no soap left he turned off the water and moved to the other side of the room for towels and a towel covered chair, and a bottle of rose scented talc he knew she would especially like. To move her safely from the wet chair to the dry one he guided her arms around his waist, then reached down to hers and pulled her up against him.

Gwen felt herself resting against his slender, strong form, skin to skin. Her breath caught as a memory, potent and painful, came out of nowhere and for a moment took over everything.

"What is it?" Spencer could feel her lips moving against his skin, but there was no sound. A flashback, he thought, a memory. I didn't mean to hurt her at all. "I'm sorry." He broke contact and gently lowered her into the chair. She was shaking, he realized, and he started wrapping her in dry towels to keep her warm.

Don't, she thought. Don't pull away. I'm too sick and too weak and this is not the place or the time. But I remember this and you need to know. "S…s…s…"

"Shhhhh…"There was a tap on the door. One of the nurses, surely. "Tell me later." Spencer planted a kiss on her shoulder, then helped her get into her nightgown so she could go.

------

**Willmen's farm**

**Trinity County, CA**

"Garcia," Hotch said into his phone, "I need you to track the last call made from this location."

"Yes sir. With a wave of my hand I will…Oh no, oh no, on no…."

"Garcia! What's happening?"

"It's a virus. It's erasing everything on their compute network. I'm going to have to call you back." There was an abrupt click as the phone cut off.

Rossi caught the look on his friend's face. "What is it?"

"We've been made."


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

**Willmen's farm**

**Trinity County, CA**

**Eight days after**

The team had been there for two days, gathering evidence, helping the locals clean up the mess. But it was a big property and it was taking time. Just this morning the dogs found another survivor.

The last survivor.

"Sir." The local SAR manager came over to Hotch with a grim look on his face. "The cadaver dogs have found something."

------

**UCLA Medial Center – Secure floor**

Most of the team was still cleaning out the farm upstate. Spencer had spent the morning in the conference room, helping Garcia try to recover any more evidence as best he could, while Gwen met with a volunteer stylist come over from the oncology department. Something about self-esteem encouraging healing or some such thing, he had no idea. But she'd seemed eager for it and so he didn't complain.

When the morning was over and he went back to her room, he was completely shocked.

He had thought she was going to have it trimmed to remove the damage, and dyed back to her usual chestnut brown. But instead she'd had it _cut_; it just brushed the top of her shoulders in front, hung about 4 inches longer in back. And instead of brown, it was now silvery gray at the bottom, and from her shoulders up it was pure, crystal white.

She was sitting in a high back chair in the corner, in the bright sun, in a pink, sleeveless nightgown. There were still tubes running into both arms and another into her collarbone. Her arms now sported full on casts, but when she opened her eyes she almost didn't look human.

She certainly didn't look like his Gwen.

Gwen didn't know what made her wake just then. But there was Spencer, holding himself in that way of his, clearly upset by what he saw. This is it, then, she thought, we might as well have this out now. She looked past him, to where the aide was waiting to help her back to bed. "T…thank you, but I'd like to stay here. I n..need to talk to my husband for a while." She waited until the door closed, looked over at Spencer and waited.

He'd been rocking slightly, watching, listening to her. I can't do this, he thought, I don't think I can do this now. "I thought you were going to go back to brown."

"You thought I was going to go back." She corrected him, putting words to what had been unsaid for days. "You can hire all the doctors in the world to put my body back together and they still couldn't get what I know now out of my head. And…I wouldn't want them to. I don't want to go back."

That floored him. "But…I thought you liked the life we had. I know I did."

She laughed. "Oh God, Spencer, life with you was always heaven. I loved our life together. That's why I want to build a new one with you; I want to start over again. It's just not going to be exactly the way it was."

"Oh." I'm saying that a lot in this conversation. "That's going to take some getting used to."

"A lot of things are. Come here." There was a couch under the window, where he slept these days. He went and sat by her, tucking his legs up under him. He still looks like a little boy, she thought. "I've been trying to think of how to tell you this for days." She began, "I met someone while I was gone. His name was Sam…oh, stop that." She shook her head and sighed.

Met someone, he thought, that usually means fall in love and now she's leaving me. I know I won't survive that. "Stop what?"

"Thinking ahead of me. You always thought faster than I could speak."

Spencer was quiet a long moment. "If you're leaving me, just get it over with." He whispered. Rip the bandage, he thought, it will only hurt forever then.

She sighed again. "I'm not leaving you. I don't want to leave you. I never wanted to leave you." Her eyes drifted shut a moment. "Sam was a friend, a good friend. He kept me going when I needed it. But back home he had a partner. Well, actually he had three."

Oh. "Oh." Spencer felt himself relaxing again. "Back home?'

"Freedom. Work. Friends sometimes. Home. Not where we were."

"Oh."

"I was…under the restaurant. And I was so tired. He was in the cell next to mine and we had time and quiet and started talking. He'd been in for a while and he said that I looked like I was pretty loosely tethered. He was right, I was."

"Loosely tethered?"

"Mmmm. It would have been an easy place to die."

Spencer's heart tried to stop for a moment. "So why didn't you?"

"Sam made me realize I had something to live for."

"Me? Us?"

Gwen opened her eyes again and looked at him. "Me. Sam showed me that I had to live for myself. I knew you would try to find me, and I hoped we could have something together when you did, but even without that, I had to live."

"Why?'

"Because it wasn't always about pain."

------

**Then**

_**Willmen's farm**_

_**Trinity County, CA**_

_Gwen's stomach tightened as she felt the large hand grab her by her neck to hold her still,, the expected intrusion, the brush of hair against the backs of her thighs. You would think the humiliation would lesson over time, she thought, but it's just as awful as it was years ago. Years, she thought, it had to be. That was the third time she'd seen that plum tree outside the barn in bloom. But she knew Spencer and Jason would never give up. All she had to do was hold on, stay alive, hang on to her sanity as best she could. Someday she's be out of this. Someday.._

_She sighed as she looked across the small arena at the other women. Three of them, all humiliated in the same way. Only they looked eager for the competition about to begin. A bone would be thrown and they'd scamper on hands and knees like animals and the first one to get it would choose her partner for the night. She knew that the first two would choose the Monsters, the two men who sat there, fully dressed and laughing, in the hopes of currying some reward or favor, if only a ride on that vibrating saddle thing or a full, real meal. The third winner would choose one of the other victims, one of the two men chained to the far wall where they couldn't see. They would be tossed in a kennel together, expected to perform all night for the cameras. If they didn't they'd be whipped in the morning. The loser and the unchosen could only look forward to a night of humiliation and pain._

_She knew. She routinely lost this humiliating little game by refusing to play. Why should I amuse them, she thought, it's not like I can really make a choice? If I win I choose three square meals and a hot bath and a night in a real bed, think that would happen? But she was already hurting tonight, and she knew exactly what kind of pain she was in for, she could hear it in the other room, and she was so very, very tired._

_And that was Sam up there against the wall._

_Sam who had been there in the other place, keeping her going through all the weeks of hunger. Sam who was quiet and kind, and remarkably strong. Sam who convinced her that she was the luckiest of all the girls, because she had someone out there who loved her._

_Is it really so wrong, she thought, to want one night without pain? Is it really so wrong to want to connect with someone, just once? Would he understand?_

_She looked up as a hand appeared and the bone fell. And she found herself moving….._

_------_

_There was no escape from it. Not from the bright light above her, or the camera pointed this way, or the straps that pinned her in place over this bench. No escape at all. Well, girl, she thought, you chose your fate this time._

_She heard the cage door close behind her, sensed movement. "J…just d…d…don't hurt m..mu…me. Please."_

"_Shhhh." There was something, someone warm against her back and a familiar voice in her ear and Sam was murmuring so kindly. "No, not at all. Just relax and try not to let it show on your face." He chuckled and nuzzled behind her ear. "Go ahead and pretend you're home and I'm your husband. Just don't get upset if I call you Jess, okay."_

_She sighed as she felt him kiss the side of her neck, felt the familiar heat of it. She sighed and relaxed and finally let go._

------

**UCLA Medial Center – Secure floor**

**Nine days after**

There was a long, quiet time after Gwen finished admitting to finding a lover in hell. She just rocked there, waiting for Spencer to say something, anything. Finally she had to add. "I hope he's dead now."

Spencer was still thinking. This was all so shocking and new. Some part of him honestly believed he'd get his girl back exactly the way she had been, as if nothing had changed. Even after five years in the BAU, even after all the monsters and all the survivors, somehow he believed. "Why?"

"After what they did to him for it, it would be a kindness."

------

**Willmen's farm**

**Trinity County, CA**

Emily came over to where Hotch and Rossi were standing. "How many?"

Hotch looked over at the size of the mass grave the dogs had outlined so far, "Too many."

------

**UCLA Medial Center – Secure floor**

"God." For her to wish that, it had to be bad. "I never saw that on the videos."

"No, the Bastard destroyed them. After he destroyed Sam. He was jealous." She waited, in the quiet she swore she could hear the sound of the traffic so many floors below. "Are you?"

"What, jealous?"

Gwen nodded, and in a way, held her breath. "Are you going to leave me now?"

"Because someone helped you escape the pain for a while? No. God, no."

She felt her soul relax, then. "That's why I don't want to go back. I don't want to unlearn what he taught me." She managed a smile, then, small, shy, "I'd rather teach you."

Spencer smiled back. "I wouldn't mind." He felt his cheeks burning and looked back down; found himself rubbing the marks inside his elbow. "I have to confess something. You're not the only one who found a way to escape for a while."

"Oh." Gwen looked over at him for a long moment. Five years is a long time, she thought, I rather expected that. I am curious though, "What was her name?"

"Not her." Spencer took a deep breath, "Him. Tobias Hankel."


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

**UCLA Medial Center – Secure floor**

**Nine days after**

This is rather how a mother bird feels, Spencer thought. It was an insight he'd already shared with Gwen, which explained why she kept cheeping at him. With the casts and bandages she couldn't really handle anything on her own, including a fork or a spoon. And she really didn't feel comfortable with anyone else feeding her but him. It's a trust thing, he realized, having that stop would be an instant flashback. She doesn't trust anyone else not to do that to her.

"Cheep," was Gwen's next comment. It was better than sitting there with her mouth open. Spencer obediently gave her a bite of French toast, followed by some sausage. "Oh, my God, that's heavenly."

"That you're enjoying hospital food this much is disturbing."

"No maggots. Cheep." Even with the fake maple syrup and being nothing more than sandwich bread in batter, it was ambrosia. Granted they did give things a noticeable protein boost. "I can't wait to make my own."

"Maggots?"

"French toast. Cheep."

He stuck another bite between her lips. They were alone; she just didn't feel comfortable eating in front of people yet. But the team didn't know that and so Emily knocked and came in."Hi guys. Oh, hey, that's pretty." She stopped to admire the gold ring hanging from a chain around Gwen's neck. "Bet it's nice to have that back."

"You have no idea." Gwen smiled. Breakfast, well, elevenses was almost over and she had to start easing back into the world sometime. "Three more days and I get to travel. Cheep."

"Wow." Emily smiled. "So, staying here or back to Virginia? What are your plans SSA Reid?"

Spencer looked up from the now empty plate. "Virginia. We're trying to find a suitable rehab program now." He looked around but no one came up after her. "Where's the rest of the team?"

"Downstairs, checking out the dog and pony show."

------

**UCLA Medical Center – Main Lobby**

"Oh, here we go." Rossi muttered, as the crowd veered in their direction. The hospital was opening a new wing of some kind, and a number of dignitaries had shown up for the ribbon cutting. Since some of them were technically in law enforcement, although they were running for other offices, JJ suggested they stop and pay respects.

"David Rossi. I am honored." Jeremy Vallejo, the state Attorney General, and predicted to be the next governor after a special election in just a few weeks time, swooped down for handshakes and photo ops. "I'm glad to see you and the team here, there's nothing like meeting a genuine hero in the battle against crime."

"It's a pleasure to meet you." Rossi looked the AG over. About Hotch's size and weight, dark hair in a crisp cut, dark suit, just a little more tan. He introduced everyone, watched the hand shakes all around. "You know, that's an interesting ring you have."

"Oh, thank you." He pointedly looked down at it, a J topped with a cross, overlaid by a V. "It's my family brand. We've used it ever since my ancestor, Ignacio Vallejo was Alcalde of San Jose in the late 1800's to…brand our cattle."

"Fascinating. Well, it's nice to meet you, sir. We won't keep you any longer." As the AG moved on Hotch took a campaign flyer from one of his staff and headed for the elevator, with the rest of the team right behind him.

------

**UCLA Medial Center – Secure floor**

Spencer was just settling Gwen back into bed when Hotch strode into her room and held up a picture. He watched as all the blood ran out of his wife's face. Slowly, she looked up at Hotch, and nodded. "What is it?"

"Our missing dominant is the AG, Jeremy Vallejo. We need to get her out of the state." Hotch headed out to the nurse's station to talk to the doctor about getting her ready to travel.

"What? Why?" She wasn't supposed to be ready yet, she was still on IV's, still getting extra nutrition through the tube. This wasn't supposed to happen.

Morgan was moving around the room, starting to pack. "Because the AG didn't ask why a BAU team was at the hospital, that's why. And because he made a point of telling Rossi about the brand." He started putting Reid's traveling chess set away. "That means he knows why we're here, and he's confident enough about doing something about it to be willing to brag."

Spencer opened his mouth to say something, but Hotch was calling to him from the nurse's station. As he left Gwen reached over and tapped Morgan on the thigh. When the larger man looked over she tried…"P…p…pl…j…ju…j…."

"Easy, little sis. Just breathe and blow. We're going to keep you safe, don't worry." No falling apart now, he thought, not until we get you on the plane.

Breathe and blow, breathe and blow, "J…just don't l…let him h…hr…hurt Spencer. Please!" Anything but that. Don't let Spencer end up like Sam. I'd rather go back. Please.

"Don't you worry; no one's going to hurt anybody."

------

**Santa Monica Municipal Airport**

A battered car pulled up to a hangar. A few minutes later a shiny SUV pulled up beside.

One man got out of each vehicle. The SUV kept bouncing gently, as if something was still inside.

"Got what you need?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Oh yeah."

-------

**UCLA Medical – Secure floor.**

Spencer looked up from where he was going over medication with the doctor as two State police walked up to the group. They already had the entire team there, as well as two local agents. From what little he'd been able to overhear, as soon as Gwen was able to move they would be heading for the airport. The nurses were in with her right now, removing the IV's and the catheter that had been pumping nutrition into her system.

The State Police stopped at the nearest Agent. "We're looking for Agent Hotchner."

Hotch walked over. "What is this?"

"We're here to help with the security detail." One of the men smiled. "We have more men downstairs securing the lobby and parking area."

"That won't be necessary…"

Spencer's attention was pulled away by JJ, who came up to the team, closest to Gwen's door, and spoke very quietly. "There's a problem. A narc team was making a sweep, looking for smugglers, when the dogs spotted on our plane. The pilot told them it's an FBI plane, but they're insisting the paperwork is forged, and are tearing it apart to check for smuggled drugs. It's going to be hours before it's all cleared up, if not the morning."

"Cute." Rossi grumbled. "It leaves her in state and vulnerable that much longer, gives him a chance to plan something. And meanwhile the state and local cops are tracking her every move." He turned to look pointedly at the two State Cops.

Hotch returned to the team and heard what JJ had to say. "We'll take this in stages. The Federal Building is less than a mile from here. Let's get her that far and see what we can do. Take only what you can carry, the local agents can pack your bags later."

That left Spencer with his satchel and nothing more. Her meds, he thought, the chess set, my journal, the two books we've been reading for the plane. That was all, and it felt like not nearly enough. But once inside her room he stopped and put his gun back on his belt, and that made him feel better.

They'd put Gwen in a tank top and yoga pants, soft and comfortable for the journey. She was sitting in a wheel chair, looking down at her feet, her wedding ring dangling from the chain around her neck. "Shoes," was all she had to say on the matter of dressing. After five years they felt ridiculously heavy and stiff. And I never used to like being barefoot at all, she thought, how very odd.

They worked out the plan, who took point, who covered the back. Finally, they left the room, Spencer pushing his wife in her wheelchair.

"Hey, you guys leaving?" asked one of the State Police.

"Just going downstairs for dinner," Spencer replied, hoping they would buy the lie since they weren't taking obvious luggage.

She was surrounded by bodies as Spencer pushed her to the elevator, and the drop of it made her dizzy. "Ohhhh don't think I can do this."

Morgan leaned over as Spencer put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Yeah, you can little sis. We're gonna get you home from here."

They got to the SUV's, went around to the far side. Morgan and Emily were riding with Gwen and Spencer, Hotch, Rossi and JJ were taking the second car, the other agents the third. Once out of sight of the hospital entrance, Morgan told Spencer to get in first. "Here you go little sister." He literally lifted Gwen up and put her in the seat next to her husband, before getting in to turn the car around and drive away.

"Damn it." Emily said. She'd been watching the door and saw a State Police officer watching them, and speaking into a cell phone.

"I'm sure the others saw it." Morgan countered, "If we call they can track it, and know we know. It's less than a mile, let's just get there."

It ought to be a short trip, even with the downtown traffic, south on Westwood, then east on Wilshire, then a quick south on Meuse to get into the parking area. They got about a third of the way there before the traffic hit, and they were all but stopped.

"Is this normal?" Morgan asked, as he tried to track every moving thing around him.

"It's not that abnormal." Spencer replied. "It is LA." He'd put his arm around Gwen, was rubbing her shoulder firmly to keep her calm. "Are you all right?"

"There's just so much." She was watching the sidewalks as they went by. So much movement, so much _color_, it made her dizzy. She closed her eyes and leaned over a bit, to rest her head on his chest.

"It looks like some kind of roadwork." Emily was trying to crane around to see. "They're routing a detour, to the right from the looks of it."

Spencer looked around. "That would be Kinross. Take it for one block, and then turn left onto Gayley, that will take us down to Wilshire, and then turn right."

Morgan chuckled. "Maybe now that your wife is back you can find something other than memorizing maps to do before bed." He wasn't nearly as amused by the turn, two lanes of traffic down to one, and now there were two cars between them and the one Hotch was driving in front.

He and Emily were surprised to hear Gwen chuckle with them. "He's going to have to be patient; the doctors haven't cleared me yet."

Emily kept trying to look everywhere as well, as they turned on to Gayley. "Oh good, there's time to start a pool."

Spencer could not let this pass. "You know, there are some maps that can be considered pornogra…"

With a loud CRACK the windshield shattered inward.

Gwen screamed as Spencer pulled her over and down into his lap, shielding her behind the first row of seats. He slid down himself, as her head rest exploded.

"Sniper!" Emily caught sight of a flash off the barrel, "Garage on the left!"

"Got it!" Morgan started muttering curses, two lanes of traffic turning into four, two turning right, which was how he needed to go, but a red light. Fuck it. "Hang on!" He hit the gas, pulled into the straight lane, dodged traffic and turned down Wilshire. He passed Hotch, Rossi and JJ at full speed, barreled down Wilshire while Emily screamed into her phone for them to Open The Security Barrier NOW!!, took the corner at Meuse on what must have been two wheels, and finally pulled into the parking structure. He pulled up right in front of the elevators and parked. "Is everyone okay?" He asked as he was moving. Hearing two yeses and the start of a stutter he pulled open the door just as the other cars were pulling up, hauled Gwen out of her seat and took her straight into the elevator. As far as he was concerned questions could wait, he was getting his little sister-in-law to safe harbor.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

**US Federal Building**

**Los Angeles, CA.**

**Nine days after**

Morgan deposited Gwen on a couch in an out of the way conference room, one with the standard glass walls, and then went back to the elevators to meet the others and give his report. Spencer dropped on to the couch next to her. "How are you?"

"D…d…dizzy." She leaned over until she was using his lap as a pillow. "It s…seems like everything has been a blur ff…or…I don't know how long. Th..this doesn't s…seem real."

"Shhh, I think you're disassociating. Which is understandable, it's been that kind of an afternoon." He gently ran his fingers through his hair as he watched the rest of the team meeting with some other people he didn't know.

"D…do you have a house?" She asked. It was a question that caught him off guard.

"No. I have an apartment. Actually it's about as crappy as the old faculty housing. Why?"

"B…because I'd like to go home;" she sighed a little, watched nothing in particular. "I th…think I'd like to try to build the home I've pictured for so long."

"Whatever you want, we'll make it come true."

"Hmmm, quilts. I want a linen closet with lots of clean sheets and lots of quilts to snuggle in."

"I suppose you want a big, soft bed too."

"Yes, with lots of pillows and a fireplace and Araucana blue walls; and a hot cup of tea."

"Araucana blue? Can I assume a bed big enough for two?"

"Bigger. I want room to play in."

Spencer felt his face growing warm as he watched the team meet up with a small group of strangers outside the room. "I thought that…didn't work right anymore?"

"The mind is the biggest sex organ we have, silly. I have no doubt that we can make this work." He felt her yawn, swore he felt her eyes close.

"I have some ideas in that direction. And I've been doing some research on the subject." Which ought not to surprise anyone, he thought. "I e-mailed a specialist out in Colorado, she thinks she can…if I say fix it will you be mad?"

"I'd pinch you if my fingers worked. Intimacy isn't just about the physical."

"No, but the physical side is supposed to be fun."

She yawned again. "We will consult with your specialist. You have some ideas, though?'

He gently stroked the side of her neck and was rewarded with a small shiver. "Get healthy first. We have time."

"By all rights I should be getting the Marshall Service up here right now." One of the strangers was saying, loudly, and with a great deal of bluster as the door opened and the team came in the conference room. "She ought to be in Witness Protection immediately."

"I don't believe that's practical." Hotch disagreed. "For one thing she still needs specialized care that would hamper any attempt at hiding her. For another Dr. Spencer Reid is a valuable part of this team, we would not be able to meet our mission without him." And after what happened with Haley I will not trust her to anyone else.

"Then she goes and he stays with the BAU until we can bring all this to trial."

The entire team/argument looked over at the clear, firm "No." that came from the couch. "I k…know you w..want me to testify, and and I w..will, gladly. But I am s…staying with my husband." Gwen was quiet and firm. "I am n…n…not losing a m…minute more of my life than I have t…to m..those monsters and that includes my m…marriage and Spencer's career."

"We could put you in protective custody." The blustering stranger shot back.

Spencer didn't even bother to open his eyes. Go ahead and fire me, he thought. "You could try. I'd find her and you know it."

The stranger looked at all the faces around him. They all agreed, he realized, and they all meant it. "Well, let's hope you're right Agent Hotchner. Make the best of the time you have before your plane is ready." He stomped off.

"I doubt the AG has that much power outside of the state. Once we get back to Virginia we should be fine." Hotch looked over at the young woman sitting on the couch. Spencer was right, he thought, she's a lot stronger than she appears.

**Southbound Interstate 405**

**Ten days after**

The motorcade left the Federal Building well before dawn, heading for the BAU plane at the Santa Monica airport. Even at that hour the interstate was busy, and traffic was moving slowly, made worse by repair work that had started overnight, taking it down from six lanes to two. As it passed the Santa Monica Blvd. on ramp a long semi came onto the interstate, and navigated its way next to the motorcade. Just as the lanes opened back up the semi swerved, slamming three of the SUV's into the concrete barrier. The semi then quickly veered away, turning down the ramp onto the 10. The end result was an instant traffic jam, and a need for rescue equipment, and ambulances.

Twenty minutes after the rescue started shots ran out from the back of one of the ambulances. When it was all sorted out it turned out that someone posing as a police officer entered the ambulance and attempted to kill the small, brown-haired woman and the tall, skinny man who refused to leave her side. Only they turned out to be undercover FBI in Kevlar vests, who fired back.

**Los Angelis International Airport.**

Spencer had to smile as he watched the plane taxi through the glass. The air ambulance was the same make and model as the plane the team used to cross the country. Granted though I doubt it's as nice inside, he thought, it is fitted out for medical transport.

He felt a hard knock on his leg, and crouched down beside Gwen, who was sitting in a wheelchair beside him. She was watching the plane with wide-eyed wonder. "A..ah..are w…wh…wh…we…r…r..r…."

"Shhh." He murmured quietly. "It's all right. They want you on a heart monitor for the trip, and then an ambulance will meet us at the airport and take us to Mary Washington Hospital in Fredericksburg. They want you there for a day or two to be sure you're stable before we move to the rehab hospital." Both facilities were less than ten minutes away from Quantico, and sure safe haven.

Gwen nodded. It was a good plan, but there was one big boulder in the way. Ohhh, I don't think I can do this. I'm just not sure. "Y…ye…yes, b…bu…b…."

"Shhh. Just breathe and blow, love. It's okay."

She tried and tried and then finally. "We're really going to fly?"

"Um, yeah, how else would we…." Then it hit him and he started laughing helplessly, his head falling in her lap as she knocked him on the shoulder with her cast.

"Everything all right?" The paramedic with them wanted to know.

"Yes, everything's fine. My wife's never been on a plane before."

**Vallejo Estate**

**Outside Sacramento, CA**

The hardest part was finding a judge willing to give them a warrant. After that it had been easy.

"Hey, Rossi." Morgan pushed open a door into a small bedroom on the third floor of the massive estate. "Green curtains."

They entered the bedroom. Not large, four-poster bed, fireplace. A clock on the nightstand that told the date as well as the time. Morgan looked at the mantle. "Is that what I think it is?"

Emily reached up and took it down. A long piece of iron, old wood handle at one end, and the other…"Yes, the shape looks right. I think it's the old Vallejo brand. Just where she said it would be."

"Well, if that's the case…" Rossi stepped over to the corner by a window. "…it ought to be here." He felt along the window frame until he found the small hole, which he tugged on. A latch let go somewhere in the wall and a panel popped open.

Morgan stepped over and slid it behind a book shelf, revealing one of the kennels, locked away in the hot dark. "I knew her memory was good, but damn."

Hotch stepped in behind them and looked over what they'd found. "I'll have him brought in."

**Mary Washington Hospital**

**Fredericksburg, VA**

**Eleven days after.**

"Federal officials have issued no comment on the arrest of California State Attorney General Jeremy Vallejo. The Attorney General was arrested last night on charges of rape, kidnapping and…."

Garcia stopped and snapped off the TV. "You two do not need to see that. No more looking back, you need to move forward." She bustled back out of the room, going to get water for the flowers she had insisted on.

Gwen smiled as she watched her husband suppress a grin. "Is she always like that?" He nodded, helplessly. "I think I'm going to like it here."

"I think you're going to love it here. You're going to love the snow."

Gwen nodded toward the TV. "Does this mean it's over?"


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

**Rockwood Center for Eating Disorders**

**Fredericksburg, VA**

**Two weeks after**

They had two rooms with their own entrance at the very back of the facility. Spencer answered Morgan's tap with one finger to his lips. He pointed to the small, battered two person couch in the former patient room turned sitting room where Gwen was napping, and nodded for Morgan to come join him in the bedroom. Once the door was mostly closed they could talk. "What's going on? Will you help me move the beds?"

"Vallejo made bail. I didn't want to tell you over the phone." Morgan looked around the room, two twin beds, two small desks, two dressers. "How are we moving them?"

Spencer frowned, that was a disquieting development. "I want to take at least one of the desks into the other room and push the beds together. Didn't they freeze his accounts? That would make it hard for him to start looking."

"Yeah, they did. But who knows if they got them all or how much he got out before they did. Okay, you go that way." Morgan took one end and they started shuffling furniture around the room.

"Well, it's going to be hard for him to find her out here. Garcia's friend Peter has paid for the hospital bill." At Morgan's look he shrugged. "He said something about the community making it right, and wouldn't take no for an answer."

"I should have picked up some king sized sheets." Morgan huffed. "Why an eating disorder clinic anyway?"

"Garcia already brought some by." Spencer smiled as the room came together. "They were the best able to meet her medical needs right now. Semi-starvation is semi-starvation, whether it's because you have a mental illness or an unsub is trying to break down your resistance. She's not in the therapy program here; I've got her working with a torture expert. They don't even want us eating in the main dining room, something about her being fed being bad for the other patients. They're just going to bring meals down here." He nodded to the small, two person table in the other room.

"Well, it's not exactly a palace," Morgan muttered as they finished the furniture, "But it will do."

"If she can get healthy here I don't mind." All Spencer had to offer was a bottle of water and the other desk chair, but he offered his friend both. "Speaking of palaces, I wanted to ask you something. You know about real estate, don't you?"

"Yeah, I have a few places I rent out; low income families, trying to get ahead, mostly. Why?"

"I want to buy a house. I don't want to take her back to another crappy apartment."

Morgan smiled. "Sounds like a plan to me. Start talking."

------

**Omera/Bernard Estate**

**Then**

_Gwen groaned behind the gag as she was rolled out of the blanket and into the kennel. With her arms pinned back, there was no way to protect herself, and she felt herself bounce across the hard concrete floor. Before the room stopped spinning she felt rough hands pulling at her bonds, pulling off the arm binder and gag, causing her to cough and choke as it scraped her throat on the way out._

_When the cage finally clanged shut behind her she cautiously looked up and around with a shudder. Dr. Jeckyl's lair, she realized. But I'm not sick or injured, why was I sent here? Unless he's planning to experiment….she shuddered her way into the small pile of straw, her only protection._

"_Psss…..pssss."_

_Gwen looked around, wondering who dared. Making noise out of turn was punishable with a cattle prod, too often and you'd start losing teeth the hard way. But late at night, when no one was looking, sometimes you'd dare whisper to the person in the cage next to you, if they were daring too. And the person trying to get her attention was. She couldn't help but smile as she spotted Sam in the cage kitty-corner from hers. Too far away to talk but he smiled and waved a little. She lay down where she could keep watching him and grinned._

_Sam. When had she started looking for him, not because he was kind and she could pretend he was Spencer? When had she started wanting him on his own? Is that as much of a betrayal as it feels like, she wondered? Is it that wrong to be happy, to somehow feel safer, just by having him close by? _

_She was thirsty, and water was something that was never guaranteed. She looked at the water bottle, then over at Sam, who politely looked away. They tried not to inflict the little humiliations on each other, which was as much a kindness as you could get around here sometimes. At least it's fresh, she thought, as she lapped and licked at the obscene spigot, trying to get a mouthful, pointedly ignoring the man in the other cage, who was clearly enjoying the sight. The big question is still, why am I here?_

_Well, you won't know until they decide to start, she thought. In the meantime she lay down to get what rest she could, in the pile of straw, where she could see Sam's smile._

**Rockwood Center for Eating Disorders**

**Fredericksburg, VA**

**Two weeks after**

Gwen woke from her nap, stretched a little and looked around. She heard Morgan and Spencer talking in the other room, something about interest or something. Morgan, he was a very good friend, so gentle for his size. He was lot like Sam in that way. Not Spencer, not like that like anything, no one could ever replace her soul mate. But the reminder was there, similar build and so very kind.

She closed her eyes and lay back down and remembered the dream she'd been having. That had been the last time she'd seen Sam smile.

------

Well, this was interesting. He might actually be able to get the house thing to work. The conversation kind of died down as they went about making up the bed. Spencer picked up a pillow and shook it into the case. "Hey, did the name Sam ever come up in the investigation?"

"Yeah, one of the victims. Sam Waterston, 26. He was a law student at Stanford." Morgan tossed the other pillow at the head of the bed. "We found his body in the grave on the farm. Why?"

"Gwen mentioned him. She got to know him better than the other victims."

"Aww. I'm sorry."

"Actually she was hoping for that. Apparently they were very cruel to him, she was hoping it was over, he was at peace."

Morgan sighed as he remembered the state of the body. "I can understand why."

------

"**JJ" Jareau's house **

**Fredericksburg, VA**

**Six weeks after**

"OK, since when has Reid become such a sex god?" Garcia dropped her voice and asked JJ, as soon as they got to the kitchen to start bringing out the food.

March madness and even though JJ wasn't a huge basketball fan she wanted an excuse to throw a party. Her alma mater making the playoffs was the perfect excuse, especially now that Gwen was walking enough to get a day pass from the rehab hospital. She'd been determined to get better, had been putting on weight and muscle as fast as anyone could have hoped for, and now if all continued to go well in two weeks she'd be free. Right now she and her husband were engaged in one of those cut throat chess games that made the other players on the team wince and make jokes about blood spatter patterns. He was playing white as usual, she black, with the help of her big brother-in-law, one Derek Morgan. When they got there he had almost begged for a chess game before the game started.

"I don't understand," Spencer had to comment. "It's not like you're actually playing. Gwen's calling the moves; you're just moving the pieces for her."

"Yea, but this is the closest I'm ever going to get to beating you at this. I intend to enjoy it as much as I can." Morgan just laughed and settled in next to his sister-in-law on the other side of the board.

In the meantime, JJ and Garcia were in the kitchen. Garcia hadn't seen the Reids in weeks, few of them had. The changes had shocked her.

"What do you mean?" JJ asked, just as Emily was coming in the back door.

"What are we talking about?" Emily started emptying her bag of chips and beer.

"Reid becoming a hottie second only to Derek Morgan, God of Olympus. He's let his hair grow, for one, and he kind of has a moustache and beard scruffy thing going on. It totally works on him."

"He started the beard thing going at the hospital. I thought he was going to take it off once she settled in." Emily stuck her head around the door to say hello. And there was Spencer, lounging back in a chair, looking better than she had ever seen him, in a v-neck sweater and white t-shirt, and yes, still with the facial hair. Emily came back, shocked herself. "Well, it's understandable. They encourage the spouses of abuse victims to change their facial hair patterns, to help prevent flashbacks during intimate moments. But has he put on muscle?"

"Morgan tried dragging him to the gym, to work out some of the anger." JJ informed them. "Turns out he's a closet gym rat, he was just dressing geeky to hide it. Now they're pushing each other so hard Will can't even keep up with them. And I'm sure having his wife back has given him his appetite back too. He's not living on coffee anymore."

"And I'd be willing to bet she's the one dressing him now." Garcia grinned. "I for one am not going to complain."

Rossi was outside with Hotch, manning the grill. They couldn't help but hear through the cracked open kitchen window. He turned to Hotch, and kept his voice low. "What's your take on all that?"

"What do you mean?" Hotch closed the kettle lid on the burgers, and settled back to find a beer. "What they're talking about? It's all superficial changes."

"But it's not just that. He's not the bumbling puppy anymore. He doesn't deflect intimacy with a barrage of statistics and trivia like he used to. You can see the confidence in him now, he's become…" Rossi thought for a moment. "…an alpha male among alpha males, even if he does still defer to leadership."

"What do I think?" Hotch closed his eyes a moment. I think we were played, he thought. We were played by two of the most brilliant minds I ever met. Jason Gideon told us to expect a socially inept boy-genius and that's exactly what we saw. We never stopped to think that that boy, that has been through more experiences by the time he was twenty-one than most men have gone through by fifty, is a grown man, not a child, regardless of what the calendar says. And so he made us believe he was a bumbling puppy of a boy, all the while giving 100% to the team, and still had enough mind power left over to use the greatest collection of resources in this country to conduct his own investigation to try to find his wife. He fooled the best team of profilers the country has to offer, daily, and with resources left over. Now I am going to let all this go because that kind of a mind needs to be here, and because if it had been Haley and I had been able I would have done exactly the same. And because when the chips were down he put the team ahead of his cover every time. I know this because he did not aim for Phillip Dowd's leg, he nailed that head shot, right in front of me, risking that I might question that. I know this because two days ago he qualified expert on firearms after barely passing every time before. But I know that if I ever see Gideon again I am going to tell him that I know exactly what he did to help the man he considers his son.

Hotch opened his eyes and smiled at Rossi. "I thought we weren't supposed to profile each other."

From inside the house they heard JJ's voice. "Hey, it's almost time for the game to start!"

Sadly, the chess game was not quite over. "Queen b3 to b6, check." Gwen called. "You might as well give up now; I'll have you with my next more."

"No you won't." Spencer studied the board with a frown. "Damn it" Morgan started laughing as they won again.

"Come on guys." JJ waved them over to where everyone was assembling in front of the TV. Spencer helped his wife over to the front, settled himself on the floor and then helped her ease down into his lap. Given that her hands were still nearly useless she still needed help to eat. Down here he could wrap long arms and legs about her, and offer whatever was at hand without blocking anyone's view.

Gwen didn't complain. There was no place safer or warmer than being in her love's arms. Add their friends to the mix and everything was nearly complete. Except…"I thought you hated organized sports," she murmured as she leaned back into his chest.

"Shhh." He popped a handy bit of chips and salsa into her mouth. "It's too much fun being here." She looked around, and had to agree

Hotch watched them from the back of the crowd, smiling slightly. No, he was not going to say a word.

------

At one point during the game JJ caught up with Spencer in the kitchen. He was building two hamburgers, with all the trimmings. "Hey, Spence. I wanted to talk to you about something." JJ kept her voice quiet; knowing everyone else was distracted by the game.

"Sure, what's up?" It would be easier, he thought, to just build two identical burgers and only have to hold one at a time. I kiss her often enough, it's not like we're going to suddenly start swapping new microbes by sharing a burger.

"Will and I have been talking and…well, we want to help you make it right."

"Make what right?"

"What happened to Gwen, Spence I…I want to have your baby."

Spencer felt all his joints lock up as his brain struggled to compute what he just heard. All of a sudden JJ had his full attention. "I beg your pardon?"

"I want to have your baby."

Well, yes, he had heard that right. It was going to take him a while to get over the shock of it. "Um, wow. Oh. Ah, okay. Well, no…" What did you say to an offer like that? "Um, while I'm very flattered, and I do care about you a lot, JJ, if it's not Gwen's I don't…"

"No, no, no, not like that." Of course he would leap to exactly the wrong conclusion, JJ thought, I should have expected that. "Look, I haven't read Gwen's file, but I know the medical reports on the other victims said that none of them were in menopause. Even after what Bernard did to them they still had functioning ovaries. Right?"

"Yeah, Gwen does too. I mean, she's not exactly 100% yet, but once she's back up to a healthy weight she ought to be fine." Spencer was still hopelessly confused.

"Exactly, which means you two can still be parents. All you need is a surrogate. And for all I the complaining I did Henry was a really easy pregnancy. So, if you two want to in a few years…." JJ just smiled.

"Oh." Oh "Oh." Spencer blinked as everything computed again. "God, JJ, that's the most generous offer ever. I…I….thank you." He went to hug her, then put down the plates first. "I'll have to talk to her of course, but thank you!"

JJ hugged him back. "Yeah, well, you're going to be a great dad. I just know it."


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

**Old Peterson House**

**Fredericksburg, VA**

**Six weeks after**

It was only a few miles from JJ's house to the rehab hospital, but even with that Morgan insisted he had to drive. Except….Gwen could have sworn they were going in the wrong direction. "Where are we going?"

"One stop first," Morgan was being awfully mysterious, was clearly Up To Something.

They turned one corner, and then another, ending up on a quiet, dead end street that butted up against one of the many parks in the area. On one side the houses sat on a hill overlooking the Rappahannock River. Morgan pulled into the driveway of an old blue house with a big porch, and parked.

The house had a for sale sign in the yard. One with a 'Sold' sticker slapped across the front.

Gwen could feel her heart pounding. Spencer got out and opened her door. She slid out and took his arm as they walked up the porch steps, to where Morgan was fiddling with the lock box. "Now it's only three miles to the train station, and 10 minutes from there to Quantico, or so my realtor says. And she says that the schools are good and there's a park just down the street, in case you two brainiacs figure out how to make a little Reid sometime." He grinned as he got the door open, and reached in to flip on the light and chase away the gathering dusk. "Go in and take a look."

Gwen made a slow tour of the downstairs. A small parlor where you could see the road. A larger library, with lots of built-in bookcases and space for two desks. A trim dining room, and a big kitchen, renovated but made to look period. A new addition, with the rest of the kitchen, laundry room, mud room. From the back porch she could look down the hill to the river and the park across the way. It looked like there was a garden down there, raised beds, space for chickens.

"What do you think?" Spencer asked.

She only smiled at him, and headed upstairs. There were three bedrooms up there, two smaller that shared a bath and one master, with a new bathroom over the addition, with a big tub, an old slipper tub, big enough for two.

And the master had a fireplace. And the only furniture currently in the house, a big four-poster feather bed. She lay down on it and looked out the window. The remains of an orchard of some kind was blooming out there, and the top of the window was leaded, with cut crystal inserts. It all made the light pink and green and broke it into rainbows where it filled the space over the bed. It was all so immensely beautiful, she swore she could feel her soul warming in a way it hadn't in years.

Spencer came in and lay down beside her. "Wow," was all he could say as he watched the light dance. He looked up at Morgan who was slanting a lean in the doorway. "I cannot afford this."

"Don't be too sure about that, genius. I picked it up at a bank auction last week." He named a price that had Spencer blinking.

"Are you sure? I mean, that's less than I planned for a down payment."

"That's what I paid for it. There's some paperwork to cover, but I'm not going to charge you more for something I held for less than a week. Besides, you're going to need the rest for a new fuse box, new wiring, and storm windows."

"Storm windows?"

Morgan laughed. "This is not the desert, you need storm windows. If you want help with the work, you're doing the cooking. If you want the place, that is. If you don't I'm going to start fixing it up so I can rent it out."

Spencer lay back down and looked over at Gwen. "What do you think?"

I think I'm home, she thought. I think I dreamed of this place back in my Mother's trailer. I think I want to watch the light from the porch and from the kitchen and from the library. I think I never want to move again. I think I want to grow old and die in this bed with this man beside me. She looked over at her husband and the tears in her eyes gave him every answer he wanted.

Spencer smiled at her and looked over at Morgan. "I think we're home."

------

**Omera/Bernard Estate**

**Then**

_It made no sense, none at all. Even hell has patterns, rhythms, rhymes. This fit none of them._

_They had set up a cage in the medical room. A larger one this time, one tall enough for a man to almost stand. Earlier Mr. Hyde, Dr. Jeckyl's partner, had come in to her kennel, dragged her out by the hair and thrown her in here onto a waist high table. Given that he had a good hundred pounds on her or more and a cattle prod in his belt she didn't struggle much. _

_Now she was chained to the table on her back, her hands and feet dangling in cuffs attached to the top of the cage overhead. Given that she was pointed backside toward the door everyone could see everything. And to think, once I got embarrassed when I was in the shower in the school gym, and another woman came in when there were two curtains and a door between me and the world. Now I don't even have body hair to hide behind._

_She closed her eyes and waited while they set up the usual cameras, wondering what they were going to do to her now. After a few minutes she felt someone tossed into the cage with her. There wasn't even enough room for him to turn around, he was stuck facing the table, facing her. "Have fun. Stud." Mr. Hyde laughed. "I want footage in the morning of everything you can think up. If it's not good enough I'll peel the hide off your ass."_

_Gwen lay there with her eyes closed, waiting for the nightly violation to begin as a warm body tucked itself between her arms and legs. "I think he might mean it this time." Her eyes flew open at the sound of Sam's familiar voice._

"_S…Sam!" This was simply luck, nothing more, it had to be. She smiled as he leaned down and nuzzled her chin. "S...something's not right here."_

"_Yeah, I know." Even while he spoke he was kissing her neck, running his hands over her body. He had to look eager or get hurt, she knew, and get started right off. And it would be easier if she relaxed and tried to enjoy, he'd go slow and gentle and try not to hurt her at all. "Not a clue what yet, I just got here today."_

"_From where?" She shivered as a warm hand lightly caressed her breasts. _

"_The Farm." He murmured into her collar bone. "You? Any sign of that friend of yours?"_

"_The B…boss' house." The Boss, that's what everyone called him. A dominant anger excitation sadist with narcissistic personality disorder who lead a team of submissive anger retaliatory sadists, which, you know, helps me not the fuck at all. Jason might think a profile is the most potent weapon but right now I'd give my eye teeth for a cell phone. "Oooh…" She couldn't help a groan as Sam's wicked mouth found the hard point of a nipple and tugged. "N…no." No sign of the FBI anywhere. No sign of the monsters concerned about anything at all._

_They continued trying to sort as he worked and she accepted, until he judged she was as ready as she could be in this place and slipped inside her. There was no point in not enjoying this, she thought, it's going to happen anyway, and the punishment is entirely worse. Take what little you can get here; use it to make you stronger for next time. She felt the heat building, rocked herself against him, but in her position there was little she could actually do. It was all on Sam; thank God he wanted her to enjoy this as well. She lay back and let the sensations take her._

**Rockwood Center for Eating Disorders**

**Fredericksburg, VA**

**Six weeks after.**

"No!" Gwen sat straight up in bed, shaking. The nightmare had been so vivid, so real. Just a moment ago it was all happening all over again.

"Shhh, it's all right." These nightmares had become a nightly occurrence, ever since she stopped taking medication to sleep at night. Spencer reached over and pulled her down against him in the quiet dark, nestling her back at his side. "It's okay; you were just having a nightmare."

"Spencer." For a moment she'd forgotten where she was, who was with her. As she did every night she rolled over and wrapped her arms around his waist. "You're okay? Tell me you're okay?"

He still had no idea what she was talking about, exactly. "Yes, I'm fine. I'm perfectly well. Tell me what you were dreaming of.'

"No. No." She was still shuddering. "Where's your gun?"

"Right here." It was hanging in a holster from the headboard, within easy reach. Ever since the nightmares had started she wanted him armed at all times, no matter what. "We're safe, everything's fine. Go back to sleep."

She curled up against him and shuddered her way back to darkness.

**BAU Headquarters**

**Quantico, VA**

**Eight weeks later.**

"And we're just hearing about this now?" Hotch paced the hallway looking furious. "All right, keep me posted."

"Hey, what's going on?" Morgan was just leaving his office when Hotch strode by looking furious.

"Vallejo missed his arraignment hearing, four days ago."

"What?" Morgan looked shocked. This was not good. "And we're just hearing about this now?"

"It appears the AG still has a few friends out there. He's officially skipped out on bail, if that helps."

"Not much. What are you going to tell Reid?"

"To be extra careful. And to start carrying a satellite phone, I want Garcia to be able to track him anywhere."

Morgan couldn't help but grin. "Maybe a spare GPS tracker he can tuck into his clothes. Or hers."

Emily looked over. "Or one you can stick under his skin, like micro chipping a puppy."

Hotch stopped in his tracks a moment. Then he opened his phone again. "Garcia, I want you to look in to something for me…."

**Mary Washington Hospital**

**Fredericksburg, VA.**

"Thanks Hotch. Yeah, we're on our way now." Spencer hung up his phone. That Vallejo was on the run was disturbing. But he still had ample leave time left; and surely with the entire FBI looking for him he'd be found before he had to go back and leave Gwen with a bodyguard. In the meantime they would stop by the BAU and pick up those satellite phones, just in case. Not that I plan to get lost in any corn fields anytime soon, he thought, but since Hankel I guess I can understand them being overprotective.

He was distracted from his thoughts by a hand reaching for him, the fingers lacing with his. He looked over at Gwen, who was finally signing her own name to the paperwork, and smiled.

**Old Peterson House**

**Fredericksburg, VA**

**Nine weeks after**

Spencer got down off the ladder and looked at the walls. The bedroom was now painted a soft blue-grey, a color which almost shimmered in the gathering dusk. "So, that's Araucana blue?"

Gwen nodded, even though she was looking at her husband, not the walls, the way his muscles moved in his arms, the way he looked so much younger now that he had shaved. "Mom-hmmm. I saw it in a magazine once, and wanted it in a bedroom ever since." Her hands were still weak at times, and ached. But they could hold a fork now, and a knitting needle, and a paintbrush and a pen. She was finding herself thrilled at what her hands could do. At what she could do, now that she was back up to something in the realm of a healthy weight. Maybe that's why I'm feeling this way, she thought, maybe.

"Not bad." He could live with the color, Spencer thought. It was peaceful and quiet, pleasant enough. "All right, let's get a fan going to help this dry." He plugged in the fan, turned it on, and winced as something popped and the electrical system died. "Well, I guess Morgan was right about the electrical system."

"Maybe a fuse?" Gwen had no idea, but it sounded right, didn't it?

"I'll go look." He found the flashlight and took off for the cellar.

"Whatever happened to that engineering degree of yours?" Gwen called after him, once the cursing had died down.

"It didn't cover electrical wiring from the turn of the last century." He came back up carrying what looked like a fist sized piece of glass with a chunk of brass sticking out. "Think they would have these at the hardware store downtown?"

"It's Sunday after five, they're closed."

"Oh." Spencer sighed, sometimes he missed LA. Just sometimes. "How does pizza by candlelight sound for dinner?"

"Fabulous."

------

There was decent pizza, there was better wine, and there were ample candles to light the dining room. They sat at JJ's old card table and got a little tipsy and very warm. "What are you thinking? He asked when he caught an odd, almost wicked look in her eye.

"I'm thinking that Vallejo is going to try to find me. He's still angry that I never loved him."

That didn't match up to her expression, Spencer thought. "How would he know that?"

"Because he wanted me to do something for him, all open hearted and willingly. And I never did."

"What?"

She brushed the question off. "For the record I never did with Sam either. He was a good man, but I didn't love him like that."

"Good to know. What did he want you to do?" Spencer got up to put the leftovers away, and to try to take some of the serious edge off the conversation.

"You just can't force someone to love you. You can force them to act, you can coerce them, hurt them, starve them, take away every human right and they might just do it to survive. But that is not the same thing as doing it freely and with a willing heart." Gwen got up and followed him into the kitchen.

"No, it's not. And that would apply to any action." Spencer stuck the last of the pizza into the dormant refrigerator. "So what specifically did he want from you?"

"This."

When Spencer turned around she was right up against him, pulling him down enough to kiss him long and deep and very slow. Then she nipped at his chin, and at the hollow of his throat. His head was spinning from the kiss and the wine that it took him a moment to realize that she was unbuttoning his shirt. "What…what are you doing?"

"This." She said as she opened her mouth for a kiss right in the center of his chest. "A gift." She murmured as he felt her tongue trace the top of his stomach muscle, which tightened under the caress. "Yes." She nipped him right above the waist of his pants, and dropped to her knees and began working at his belt.

"Gwen, don't, It's…it's n…not fair." He tried to push her away, but he was already iron hard and his hands were starting to shake. Any moment now and he'd lose that battle with his inner mammal. And he wasn't sure he wanted to win anyway.

"I don't care." She reached into his pants and wrapped her fingers around his shaft, drawing him out into the candle light. "I want to." She let her breath wash over him, hot and teasing and very deliberate. "Let me do this. For me. Please." She caressed the side of him, all that soft satin skin with long sweeps of her tongue, until she could very deliberately lick the small droplet from the tip

"T…the…this is n…not going t…to last." I'm not going to last he thought. I'm going to make a mess all over if you keep this up and you'd hate getting splattered and oh God please don't stop please don't stop please don't stop. And then she swirled her tongue around his glans and his inner mammal took over and he let out a groan that might have been a howl as the pleasure hit him hard enough to cramp his muscles and make his heart stop.

"Come for me. Please." It was just a whisper against his skin, just there, as she savored the sounds coming from him, the eagerness of him, lapped at him. Yes, she thought, I got to choose who received this gift. No one else knows how I feel but him. I won this. I won this.

Spencer wanted to say yes, was dying to say yes, but he opened his eyes and looked down and those perfect lips, red and swollen from her work were surrounding him and it was so hot and so wet. She looked up at him and swallowed him whole into that perfect, blessed heat. His hips snapped and the world spun and there was nothing but endless ecstasy as he emptied into her.

Gwen let him slide from her lips, hung on to his waist, rested her head against his stomach while she willed the shuddering to stop. I wish, she thought, I wish I could feel like that just one more time. Just once, just once here, in my own home, with the man I love. Just once and I'd savor every moment of it. I know exactly how I want to feel right now. Oh, please, Oh please.

Spencer tried to brace himself against the counter but it was no good. He slid down on useless legs until his ass hit the floor and could raise one oddly heavy hand to brush the hair from her cheek. It took him a minute to remember how to speak. "You okay?"

She was shuddering, so needful she was sick with it. "N…no. I…I want…I want…" Pitched forward between his legs to find his mouth, kiss him long and deep, made it worse but ohh what else could she do. Curled into his arms and whimpered and her lips found his neck and her teeth closed as she tried to ride another wave down.

Is that what I taste like, he thought, her tongue filled his mouth, is that what we taste like together? He thought he could stop her, thought he could talk her down out of her fire, until her teeth closed and that sharp, sweet pain filled him and brought him back up. "How bad, love? How bad do you want?" He brought his thigh up between hers, planted it against her, as hard as he dared. There are nerves under there, he thought, protected by fat and skin, nerves that weren't damaged, that could sense pressure and movement and respond. "What do you want; do you remember how it feels, huh? Do you remember?" His mouth found those nerves under her ear and licked and nipped. "Think about that, think about what I'm about to do." He pulled her close and pressed up so she could rock there as he kissed and sucked and nipped at her throat.

"Please." She could imagine it, exactly how it would feel. The heat of his hands as they climbed up under her shirt, undid her bra, ever so lightly caressed her breasts just that way. The gentle brush of the shadow on his chin, over sensitive flesh. How his mouth would feel, the warm wet of it as he nibbled and sucked. How good it would be when he went lower, her stomach, hips. She groaned and rocked against the pressure that felt so impossibly good as the flames just build higher and higher. He was going to, she could tell. She could feel his hands sliding under her shirt, teasing the skin of her ribs and back between the scars. Any moment now….

"Yeah, that's it. Keep thinking that." He mouthed and nipped at her collar bone; let his hands roam up under her shirt. There's only so much I can do, he thought, without hurting her. I need her mind to build this as far as it will go before I do what I can. But she's so hypersensitive that I can use the rest of her skin and it might be enough, it might just be enough. "What am I going to do next? What am I going to do next?" He kissed the top of one soft curve and felt her rock against him and realize he was already hard again. If this works, he thought, it might just work for two.

She rocked her hips against him in answer, finding the best possible pressure there. Touch me, she thought. Open me and send me flying. Fill me like I've never been full. Let me savor this and never, ever have to hide it from you. You will, I know you will. Any moment now….any moment now….oh please, please….she could hear someone whimpering, and begging and needy and this time it was her. Then those amazing fingers finally dipped into her bra and found one hard point and _rolled_ and that true sensation shot through her and the world went white.

It worked, Spencer thought, as his wife went rigid with passion in his arms. I didn't think it would but it did. It did. He held her tight as her body shook with release, as she rubbed up against him again and again and he felt his balls draw up and then he was shaking too. He heard himself crying her name as the world exploded around them both.

Gwen collapsed into his arms, utterly spent. After a long moment of trying to catch her breath she started to laugh, a low, wicked, satisfied sound. "We did it. I can't believe we did it." She laughed and laughed, helpless to stop as the endorphins coursed through her system, as she felt herself filling with joy. "We won."

"Did we?" Moving was surely overrated, he thought. He was quite content to spend the night a boneless lump on the floor of his kitchen, curled up with his wife between the refrigerator and the sink. He heard a creek from the porch. Even the house is sated, he thought.

"Yes. It's never been like that, ever. I've never been like that, ever. I didn't want them to know." She curled up against him and tucked he head under his chin, listening to the hard beat of his heart.

"You didn't want them to know what you wanted." Spencer dropped a kiss to her slivery hair and pulled her in tighter. I really ought to do up my pants, he thought, vaguely. "They would have used that against you."

"What I needed." She corrected him gently. "I saved that for you." She laughed and moaned as he moved and her body reminded her of what they had been doing. "God, I could do that again, but I am going to have such a bruise in the morning. You need to call that specialist tomorrow. Maybe she can make this easier, and then we could do it all the time."

"Hmmm?" All the time? Spencer reached down somewhere around his knee and fished out his phone. "I'll leave her a message now."


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

**Old Peterson House**

**Fredericksburg, VA**

**Nine weeks and two days after**

"Hey"

"Hey Lynnie." This was the last voice Ethan expected to hear on his phone this morning. "How you doin'? No, don't answer that."

"Don't call me that." Gwen's answer was automatic, although really, she thought, there are worse nicknames. "I don't plan to, answer that, that is."

"Still not sleeping well?"

"He told you?"

"He's worried about you. He's afraid he fucked you up somehow, made it worse."

"Did he tell you what happened?"

"Kinda. You know how he can talk around things sometimes."

"Yeah, well, I took his cherry on the kitchen floor, not the other way around." There was silence on the other end of the phone. "What? It's not like the FBI doesn't have every detail of our sex life on report, in triplicate, filed for posterity. Why spare anyone the good parts?"

"So if it was good why are you calling me?"

"I need a place to crash for a while. Well away from here."

"What? Oh sweetie, he'll get better. Just let him practice a while."

"Fuck you, Ethan." She said without heat. "He's already better than you'll ever be."

"I don't know chere. I've been doing the musician thing down here in New Orleans for a while now. You get a lot of experience in these parts."

Gwen didn't miss a beat. "Ever have horse jizz up the nose?"

Ethan missed several. "Uhhh. No."

"Amateur."

Ethan chuckled. "So, why do you want my couch anyway?"

"I just need to get some space for a while."

"You leavn' him?" There was a long silence. "Bull shit you are. True companions. I told you that years ago. I never had a chance at you, Lynnie. You were his from the day you met."

"Yeah, I know." For a moment she sounded near tears.

"Tell me about it?"

Gwen strangled out a sob. "No."

"Where is he?"

"Downstairs, working on a lecture he's giving tomorrow."

"Screw the lecture, go tell him about it."

She managed something that wasn't a laugh. "Hell no."

"Why not?"

"He's too good for this world, you know that." For all that Spencer had been and would always be the love of her life; there were some facts about life on the other side of the tracks that she simply could not install in that gentle soul. But Ethan was a few years older when he'd shown up at CalTech one day, and he knew how the other side lived and Got It in ways Spencer never would.

"See, there you're wrong. He came down to earth the day you got snatched and has been slumming down here with the rest of us ever since. You know he's been monster hunting for years now, ain't nothin' you gonna tell him that's new." Ethan thought a while. "He tell you about the last time he was down here?"

"How you helped him get that monkey off his back? Yeah, he did."

"He tell you about how he picked up anthrax, of all things, a few years later and then got his knee shot out not long after that, and never touched a thing stronger than aspirin for either, just to keep his head in the game for you?"

Gwen winced. "No."

"Tell him what's going on in that stubborn head of yours, Lynnie, he can take it now."

"No."

"Fine, tell me. Go ahead and fuck me all to hell."

That was why she called, wasn't it? But now, "No."

"Well, you got to tell someone what's going on, sweetie. You can't run from it. You try and it's going to chew you up and spit out the bones. Can't tell him, can't tell me, tell someone on that team of his. Tell that old man, he'd know."

"Jason couldn't take it anymore. He got in the wind a few years ago."

"Well, shit. I am not surprised. Okay, tell one of the others. They all know how the monsters dance."

Gwen sighed. He was right. "All right, I will."

**BAU Headquarters**

**Quantico, VA**

**Nine weeks and two days after**

"Yeah send her over." Derek Morgan got up and waited at the door for his guest. He watched Gwen walking across the bullpen, following the secretary. Her hands hang in front of her, he thought, her arms don't swing. She's compensating for a hypersensitive vestibular sense. And she doesn't look at people; she still never looks you in the eye. Add in her slight frame and that hair now and those eyes and she practically has a sign over her head 'victim here'. But she's strong and wicked smart and when she can get the words out, that mouth of hers can peel paint from the walls. I never would have guessed Spencer to be the quiet one in the family. And she's resilient in a way I didn't think possible. If we could figure that out, teach it to others we'd stop all the unsubs in their tracks by taking the victim pool away.

When Gwen reached Morgan's office she managed a small smile. "Hi. Got some time to talk?"

"For you, always. But let me tell you, I have tried three times to get that husband of yours to call my contractor, he is determined to re-wire that house himself. Just keep 911 on speed dial and you'll be fine." He let her slip by him and shut the door behind her. "So where is he anyway?"

"Lecture. Something on geographic profiling."

"I thought he was taking some time off."

Gwen shrugged, "There was no need to cancel it, they didn't mind if I tagged along."

Morgan looked at the clock. "Does he know you're here?"

Gwen smiled and shook her head. His estimation was correct; she'd slipped out the back after the lecture started.

"You found your way across FBI headquarters by yourself?"

"I'm not helpless, you know. This place is considerably less stimulating than the average mall."

Morgan grinned. "I never thought of it that way." He found the small couch in his office and settled. "So, what's going on?"

Gwen wandered over to look out the window at the parking lot below. "What do you know about the Witness Protection Program?"

"I know I wouldn't trust them to watch my dog. And I know you don't need to do that, we're gonna catch this guy. Besides, you were adamant that you wouldn't leave Spencer back in LA, what's changed?" Morgan sighed. "Does this have anything to do with what happened the other night?"

"How do you know what happened the other night?"

"Next time bite him below the collar." Morgan chuckled as she rolled her eyes. "He said you haven't been sleeping well, he's worried about you."

"I'm fine. That was my idea, you know."

"I figured. Talk to me baby girl, what's going on?"

Gwen was quiet for a long moment. Breathe. Blow. "You found Sam's body?"

"Yes, we did. I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "Did you see what happened to him?"

"The autopsy gave us a general idea. We still don't know why, he was the only body we found that way." Morgan frowned as he began to see where this was going. "You watched it happen?"

"Not exactly."

**Omera/Bernard Estate**

**Then**

_This is going to be good, she thought. Sam may swear that this will be ten times better once I'm free, once it really is Spencer, but this is still good. It'll ease the pain a little and I'll be able to sleep a bit, which will help deal with the hunger a while longer. She moaned once, quiet, and tried to relax a little more, until she heard the all too familiar cocking of a rifle, right near her head. "Don't stop for our sakes, Stud." She heard Mr. Hyde growl. "Keep going."_

_She couldn't see past Sam's body to see who else was down there, but she could feel the chain around her waist being loosened and wrapped around Sam's binding them together. The table shook, and Sam dropped his head. "Legs to the table," he whispered, indicating where he had been tied, and that they were now bound inextricably in position. Then she felt him being pushed against her, hard, and the distinctive hum of a vibrator. Suddenly his face set and he growled in anger. They're raping him, she realized, while he's inside me. They're forcing him; the human male can't help that if it's done right. He's no longer doing this. All possibility of pleasure went out of her and so she went limp and closed her eyes, allowing them to do as they will._

_A moment later, as Sam was forced to move around and inside her, she felt a hand take her chin and firmly turn it to the side. "Hello, Dolly." said the Boss, just inches away on the other side of the bars. "This is your fault, you know. All you had to do was come to me." Then he reached over and pulled Sam's head up by the hair so he could look at him. "There's only room for one bull in my barn, Stud, and you're not it". The Boss moved away, back down to the open end of the cage, and for the first time that day real fear settled into her soul._

"_No. It's. Not." Sam managed to growl down to her. He didn't want this, she knew, he'd fight it as long as he could. For dignity, he'd said, and because whatever we feel is not theirs. No matter how many guns they point, or meals they withhold or shocks they deliver. Our feelings are our own and we must fight for them. And so he fought the inevitable, just to prove it was their doing and not his. But it was inevitable; she could see it on his face. He's absolving me, she thought, he doesn't blame me for what they are doing, whatever it is._

_Then she heard it:_

_The sound of metal being sharpened. Honed,_

_A ratcheting sound._

_Sam's eyes flew open. "No!" He cried out "No!!"_

_There was a snap. _

_And he started screaming._

**BAU Headquarters**

**Quantico, VA**

**Nine weeks and two days after**

"Oh my God," Morgan thought he'd heard it all, but this was a new one on him. "Sweetheart, I am so sorry."

Gwen was still looking out the window, only now her face was wet. "H…he was a friend, Morgan. H…he was g...good to me and k…kind and th…that's what th…they did to h…him. I've...I've loved S…sp…Spencer since I w…was s…sixteen. If V…Vallejo ever ever finds h…him he'll…he'll…." She simply couldn't go there at all.

"He won't. We won't let him." Morgan got up and came over and pulled her into a hug. "We'll keep you both safe, I promise. You don't need to go away."

"I…I need to do s…something. It would be my fault if I d…don't. And I d...don't know w…what else I can d…do."

"You need to be able to protect him like he protects you." Some sort of martial arts training, he thought, if she's capable. Make her into less of a victim. But she's not nearly healthy enough for that yet, she's just barely healthy enough to sleep in her own bed. But, "Okay, I know what we're gonna do." He looked up at the clock and picked up his phone. "Hey, you looking for your girl yet? Yeah, she's here with me. No, she's fine. When you're done with the cadets come find us. I'll look after her. Yeah. We'll be here." He passed Gwen the box of tissues. "Wipe your face, little sis. We've got some work to do."

**Forty-five minutes later.**

"Not bad. Try it again. Just squeeze."

Gwen squeezed and the gun in her hands went off with a sharp bark. Her wrists ached, her arms were about to fall off, and her nervous system was so over stimulated that they could have rigged her up and run the computer system off her like a battery. But this was the same kind of gun Spencer carried and she knew how to use it now. She was hitting the torso at least, and that would give them time to run if they had to.

"Good, good. You have two more in the clip, try again, nice and slow."

Never pull it unless you intend to kill what you're aiming at, Morgan had told her at the beginning. But she would, she thought, if it was that Bastard. If he threatened to hurt her husband, she'd kill.


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

**Washington Hospital Center**

**Washington DC**

**Eleven weeks later.**

"I can't do this." Gwen was pacing up and down in the medical center garage. "I can't do this."

"You don't have to, you know." Spencer was sitting on the trunk of the car, watching his wife pace back and forth. She was rather understandably scared out of her mind, and the only thing he could do to help was remain calm himself. "We could just go home. It's not bad that way."

"Yeah, but it could be better. And if I go home they win, you know. Fuck."

"Spock said that profanity was evidence of a limited vocabulary."

"Which was why Saavak was reputed to speak something like forty-three languages; if she could curse in languages he didn't know he couldn't claim her vocabulary was limited." Gwen was shaking; her stomach was tightening into knots. She was wearing one of his sweaters, just having him right beside her wasn't enough; she had to be wrapped in his scent and warmth today. "I think if she had to go through this he might give her a pass on the language."

"Yar went through this."

"Yar cursed like a Klingon. Crap, I cannot do this."

"So, let's go home then. I'll call Dr. Bowers and tell her it's off."

"No. No, I don't want to go home. I don't want them to win."

"Then we go in and have you evaluated. If Dr. Gutman thinks he can do the surgery, great, we'll have it done here. If not we fly to Colorado next week."

"Yeah, I know. I just don't want to be hurt again. I remember, you know. I remember being stuck in that chair, I remember how it hurt. I will never forget the moment before he started, every time he started. I think that was worse than what happened on The Farm, because with Dr. Jeckyl it was so likely to be permanent. God, I am so scared right now."

"I know. I'll be right there the entire time. You won't do a thing without me."

"What if they don't let you come in?"

"They won't stop me."

"What if it hurts and I want them to stop and they won't."

"Then I'll shoot them." Spencer said, utterly serious.

Gwen stopped her nervous movements and turned to laugh at him. "I think that's kind of illegal."

"I'm FBI, my boss used to be a prosecutor, we'll work something out." At least he had her laughing. Speaking of shooting, walking through a hospital with a gun on your hip was usually a bad idea. He took it off and tucked it into his satchel, close but unseen. "Want to at least give it a try, see how far we get?"

Gwen came over and wrapped her arms around him, holding on very tight. "Okay."

------

"We're here to see Dr. Gutman. It's under Dr. Gwen Reid."

The nurse looked up from the paperwork in front of her. Standing at her desk was a tall, remarkably skinny young man with the look of an eager puppy dog around him. The girl attached to his side like a barnacle didn't quite look old enough to be here without her parents, and wasn't looking at her. "And who are you?"

"I'm her husband, Dr. Spencer Reid."

"I think I'm going to need to see some ID."

Spencer smiled to conceal his irritation. Did they even read the file? He pulled out his FBI ID and passed it over. "Will this do?" he asked, trying to keep the point from his voice.

The nurse looked the ID over. It was heavy, all right, that was a real badge. She still didn't like it, and gave him a distrustful look. "It'll just be a few moments."

Spencer and Gwen headed for the waiting area, where Gwen almost curled up in his lap. "It's going to be okay." He murmured into her hair.

"I know, but this is hard."

"I know."

A few minutes later they were called back. Well, she was called back, the staff asked her a number of times if she really wanted him there, but she kept insisting, over and over, that he stay with her. Height – 5 ft 1 in. Weight – 96 lbs, which was a huge improvement over when they'd found her. Temperature slightly elevated, which might be her metabolism still adjusting to actual food. He winced with her when she had her blood pressure checked, noted that she would get a bruise from the cuff. They finally ended up in the exam room, where they sat in the two chairs by the computer. Gwen, he noticed, was staring at the exam table with a mixture of fear and resolve on her face.

The nurse finished typing and looked over at the two of them, the beanpole and the little girl rocking there. "And what are you in for today?"

"Um, I had the file sent over with her paperwork. Hopefully it's all in her chart."

The nurse gave Spencer a cold look. "I was asking her."

Spencer looked down to where his wife was rocking and fluttering a little beside him. "I don't think she's going to be able to answer you."

The nurse pursed her lip. "Would you like to step outside while I help her into a gown?"

"No, I'll help her. Thank you."

After the nurse left Gwen muttered "I am not getting naked." It was bad enough that this was going to be all sorts of reminders and triggers and every other term they used in therapy, she was not getting naked on top of it. Her breasts were fine; no one needed to be poking about her breasts until and unless she decided to have the scars removed.

"Okay, don't get naked. You're wearing a skirt; we can just lift it out of the way." He pulled her close again and started rubbing the back of her shoulders and neck. "Would you rather be sitting up or lying down?"

"I'd rather be home."

"Are you going to complain every time we do this?"

"More than likely."

"Good to know."

"They weren't like this in LA."

"In LA there were people from the university who knew us and communicated that with the staff. We're new here."

"I know." Gwen sighed, "I just want my body back, that's all. I'd like it to belong to me now, not have everyone doing what they want to it."

"Not even me?"

"I invited you."

"So, invite the doctor." When she gave him one of those looks he just nodded. "Think of it this way, he's here to help get rid of what they did and help you get your body back the way it ought to be. In a way, he works for you. So if you don't like it or don't want it, tell him. He'll have to accept that."

"And if he doesn't?"

"Then I'll tell him. I'll fight for you."

"I love you, you know." Gwen sighed and snuggled in to him, and then looked up as the doctor came in.

------

Spencer looked over at the familiar form coming down the hall. "What are you doing here?"

Morgan smiled. "I know you're off the clock but we have a case file we could sure use your help on. I tried to call you but you weren't answering your phone so I had Garcia look for you. Everything all right?"

"We just finished a doctor's appointment, a tough one. Gwen's pretty upset." He leaned back against the wall. "And I'm debating shooting someone, just for the stress release."

"That kind of appointment?"

"Yeah."

"What did they do to you?"

"Treated me like an unsub." Spencer managed a laugh that wasn't amused. "The majority of spousal abusers will try to accompany their spouse on medical visits, in order to control the information given to the staff and keep their spouse intimidated. They refuse to leave their spouse alone with the staff, answer questions directed toward their spouse, and even give the doctor directions on how to treat the spouse. In addition the spouse is usually withdrawn, shows signs of nervousness like fidgeting or rocking, barely speaks, and refuses to make eye contact. Sound familiar?"

"Oh, you fit that profile." Morgan chuckled.

"Yeah, I do. It was easier in LA, they knew the faculty at CalTech who vouched for us, and she was a fairly well-known autism advocate before she went missing. Here they're not familiar with us or with the condition in adults. On one level the more they tried to help her, the more she felt like they were trying to split us up so they could abuse her somehow. In addition she found the exam painful, and was rather vocal about it. At this point I don't know if the doctor here really doesn't feel comfortable doing the surgery or if he just doesn't feel comfortable having us around so we're going to have to go out to Colorado after all. So of course she's even more upset because to her she just went through all that for nothing. Right now she just wants to take a hot shower and curl up in some quilts for a while. We're going to stop by Eddy's; I put an order in for pastries for her." Pain and hunger were completely entwined with her, still, Spencer knew.

"Aw man, you two have had a day. Hey, how does this sound, we'll head back to your place, I've got my DVD's of the master in my go bag in the trunk, we'll order some pizza to go with it, and I'll keep her company while you check out the file."

Hot shower, soft quilts, pizza, pastry, good friends, Charlie Chaplan. "That sounds like just what the doctor ordered, thank you."

"No problem at all."

------

"So next week we fly out to Colorado." Spencer wrapped an arm around her, pulled her in close as they walked to the car.

"You make it sound so easy. It's not easy, Spencer."

"I'll take care of all the details. You just have to be there."

"That's the hardest part." She buried her face into his side a moment. "I wish you could just sedate me at the airport, wake me up when we get back to DC."

"I wish I could as well. Unfortunately it doesn't work that way. But I'll make sure you're well and truly sedated before they take you into the operating room." They turned the corner and he could feel her smile as she spotted Morgan waiting for them "We thought you'd like company tonight."

"Thank you." She loved Spencer, more than anything. But she felt safer when their friend was looking out for them both. On the other hand, she was feeling vulnerable enough to not leave Spencer's side, even at Morgan's hail.

Spencer stepped between the car and the van parked beside it to open the door for her, as Morgan stepped in behind her. "Here you are M'lady." He said as he opened the door. Then she gasped and he looked around just in time to feel a sharp clip on the back of his head, to see Morgan crumpling to the hard concrete. And then there was darkness.


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

**Rented Farm**

**Off Beans Cove Rd and State Route 3005**

**Pennsylvania PA**

"Reid…Reid…Reid…"

Spencer felt someone hitting him in the ribs repeatedly. Not hard, but enough to try to rouse him from the black fog he'd been in for some unknown time. His head felt like one, giant toothache. He opened his eyes and blinked a bit to focus. Concussion, he thought, not major. Great. He finally blinked into focus and realized it was Morgan who had been kicking him. "'s going on?"

"We found Vallejo." Morgan turned his head and spat again, trying to get the metallic taste of the drugs out of his mouth. They must have brought one dose for Reid, the larger man thought, and used it on me instead. So there wasn't enough and I came out sooner. Not that it helped much; he was sitting up against the side of an old stall, his hands cuffed to a beam of wood above his head. Spencer was draped over that same beam, his head hanging at about the level of Morgan's shoulder. His handcuffs had been passed around an old pipe that went from somewhere to somewhere else.

Spencer blinked again, willing himself to focus. Given the way they were stuck he rather thought it was more that Vallejo found them. Then the adrenalin kicked in and burned him to consciousness. "Where's Gwen!?"

"I don't know. I started coming to in the van just before we got here. They had her trussed up and scarred out of her mind."

"They?" Just as Spencer asked the question he heard a step behind him. All of a sudden there was a hand grabbing him by the gonads and squeezing hard enough to make lights pop at the edges of his vision.

"Mornin' Doc. Nice to see that you and the big boy here are awake." Jeremy Vallejo stood behind Spencer, kept fondling him as if measuring size, weight. "To answer your question I had to pay off my temporary assistants and send them back to Baltimore so they could crawl back into the rat-infested piss hole where I found them."

"Leave him alone, you freak. You wanna mess with someone, come mess with me." Been there, done that, Morgan thought, I can take it again if I have to. But Reid is just not that strong, and Gwen has had more than her share.

Vallejo looked over Spencer and down at Morgan. "Not to worry Agent Morgan, I prefer women. But my lawyer will be out here in a few hours, you're going to go quite a ways toward canceling out my legal fees. As will you, Dr. Reid, as soon as I take care of a little problem." His hand bore down again, causing Spencer to bite his cheek to keep from crying out. "Oh, I must say, if I had known you don't go armed, Dr. Reid, I would have caught up with you sooner. I thank you for that little gift Agent Morgan." He held up Morgan's gun before putting it in his belt. Then he grabbed Spencer by the hair and lifted his head so he could look at him. "I do have one question, though, how did you coax that impressive performance out of Dolly the other night? I honestly was beginning to think she didn't have it in her. Or does she just have a thing for kitchen floors?"

"Don't you touch her. Please." Spencer tried to make himself sound pathetic, let a few tears fall down his face. I am sorry, love. I need to get him to pay attention to you, just for a few minutes. Any time is too long, but just a moment. Just one.

Vallejo chuckled. "Oh, I plan to Dr. Reid. I plan to touch her quite a lot. And given that I hate performing for an audience and it's going to take two sets of hands to keep you from bleeding to death, I'm going to go touch her right now." He let Spencer's head fall. "Don't worry; I have yet to break my toys." He chuckled again and moved to another part of the old barn.

"Got any ideas?" Morgan whispered. His phone and Spencer's satchel were both missing somewhere. I've been here, he thought, I've done this. I vowed I would never let any man do that to me again. But if it's a choice between me and my friends… He felt panic rising and firmly pushed it back down. "We have got to get out of here before they cut you like they cut Sam. Dammit, I promised her I would not let you get hurt like that."

"We will. Scoot over; I don't want to vomit on you." There was just enough slack in the chain to allow him to put his hands together. Which would be enough, if he could do this. "Remind me to practice this more often."

"Practice what?" Morgan jumped and his head swiveled as they heard Vallejo yelling something, and Gwen's answering cry, which went on and on and on.

"Houdini's thumb trick." It was the cry that gave him the strength to do it. He grabbed his left thumb with his right hand just right, got the leverage he needed, and pulled. With a sickening crack and pain that turned his vision white and made his stomach try to empty itself his left thumb popped out of its socket and folded inward. A moment later the cuff slipped off his hand and he was able to stand. He shook his head to clear it, and popped his thumb back into place with another wave of pain.

"Man, where's your gun?" Morgan was officially impressed.

"In my bag, wherever that is." There was an old shovel leaning against the wall, forgotten. "Right back." He grabbed the shovel and went running after his wife.

------

Spencer, Gwen thought, Spencer. That was all she had been thinking once she woke up in the van, realized from the gag in her mouth and the set of her arms behind her who had caught up with them. He knows and he's going to hurt Spencer just like he hurt Sam and it will ruin him, just like it ruined Sam. And I don't know what to do.

She lay there sobbing on the floor of the old barn feeling the chill of the hard floor settle into her soul. She didn't know where The Boss…Vallejo was, or what he was doing. Has he already done it, she wondered, is Spencer already horribly hurt. Spencer, where are you?

"Hello Dolly." She heard him before he tangled his fingers in her hair and yanked her up. "What's up with the hair? You look like some space freak." He dropped her down and cut away the rope holding her arms with one swipe of his knife, peeled the tape off her lips without a care. "You seem to have forgotten who you belong to. You should have been showing all that enthusiasm for you Master, not that scrawny little geek."

Who's a thousand times the man you'll ever be, and deserves everything I can give him and more, Gwen wanted to yell. But she could feel her brain slip out of gear as she tried to form the words. Lacking language she communicated in simpler terms. She hauled off and spat directly into Vallejo's face.

"You stupid little bitch!" Vallejo yelled, causing a nearby cow to empty its bowels and exit the barn in fear. He held her head still by her hair as he swung back and slapped her across the face, forcing her to take the full weight of the blow. "You seem to forget that you're just a disgusting little whore. Think you're so much better than the rest of us with your degrees and your lectures. You're just a filthy piece of trailer trash, just like the rest of them, and you need to be reminded of the fact." He very deliberately grabbed her collar and tore her blouse down the front, popping open her bra in the same movement. Then he dragged her over to the pile of used straw, old food and fresh cow leavings and pushed her in.

When her bare torso landed in the thick warmth Gwen's already overloaded nervous system exploded. She started to shake and thrash and she tipped back her head and screamed as all rational thought left her. It only got worse when Vallejo picked her back up, laughing, and paused to rub some of the filth in to her skin, face, and hair. "This is my body, remember that, bitch. I took this body. I own this body. I do what I want with this body, you fucking little whore!" She felt the impact with the ground underneath as he pushed her into a clean pile of straw, and then the cool of the night air as he lifted her skirt.

And then there was someone yelling behind her.

Later Spencer would tell Hotch that he never knew what came over him. He came around the corner to find his screaming wife lying facedown in the straw, with Vallejo lifting her skirts and lowering his pants. He distantly remembered howling, he knew he swung the shovel, but he had no idea how hard or how often. All he knew was that when the red cleared from his eyes Vallejo's bloody body was lying very, very still.

Dimly he noted that a gun had fallen in the struggle. He kicked it aside, and checked the body, insuring that it was, in fact, dead. That done his only thought to go comfort his screaming wife. He went over to lift her from the straw, and only then did he see what Vallejo had done to her. "Shhh, shhh, its okay, its okay." He tried to use handfuls of clean straw to scrape the filth from her skin, but it was no use. She wasn't going to be "better" without a long, hot shower. But her underpants were sill in place, Vallejo hadn't done her any physical damage, she would, in time, be fine. Now they just had to get out of here.

He managed to get her up and moving, hauling her back in the direction of where Morgan was still stuck. On the way he spotted his satchel and brought it back with him. He fell to his knees beside his friend, his whimpering wife landing beside him. He tried to fumble with his belt, but with one hand it wasn't easy, and that hand was shaking.

"What are you doing?" Morgan wanted to know. "What happened? Where's Vallejo?"

"Mag…mag…magician." He managed to stammer out. Adrenalin, or lack there of, he thought. I may be going in to shock. Gwen might be as well. And it's going to get cold in here. "V…V…Vallejo's dead." He slipped the handcuff key out of its hidden slot in his belt and managed to get it into Morgan's hands before he lost it in the straw, a feat unto itself.

"You sure?" Morgan fumbled with unlocking the cuffs, with fingers gone numb from being above his head for hours.

"Y…y..yeah." Spencer spotted a couple of old horse blankets hanging on a rail and managed to reach up and drag them down. He wrapped himself in one and Gwen in the other, and pulled her quiet, rocking body in close.

"Yeah." Morgan got the cuffs open, reached into Spencer's satchel and pulled out Spencer's gun. Then he went to check for himself, you understand, and retrieve his own gun. Only when the bad guy was dead to his satisfaction and he had all the weapons under control did he come back to fish the most important item out of the bag. "Is she okay?"

"He…he didn't r…rape her again, if that's what you mean. I th…think her system is j…just in shock."

"I don't think she's the only one." Morgan found what he was looking for, flipped it open, and after a moment heard the sweetest sound in his life.

"Talk nerdy to me." Garcia purred on the other end of the phone, once she looked at the caller ID.

"Not right now, My Goddess, we need the cavalry."


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

**Washington Hospital Center**

**Washington DC**

"I highly object to this!"

"Noted. That's why it's called checking out against medical advice."

"You have a mild concussion. You need to be under observation."

"Some friends are going to stay with us, we'll be fine."

"Your wife is clearly in shock. She needs to be sedated."

"My wife is autistic and her nervous system is seriously over stimulated right now. She needs a calm, quiet, familiar environment with as little stimulation as possible. A hospital is exactly the opposite of that."

"We cannot be responsible for what happens if you just leave."

"I'm not asking that. I'm asking you to get the hell out of my way. I am taking my wife home."

------

**Old Peterson House**

**Fredericksburg, VA**

Spencer quietly shut, and then locked the kitchen door behind him. He'd asked Morgan and Garcia to please, just give them a few minutes alone. Please. How about just picking up their bakery order and then coming right back? Please. Eddy's bakery would be closing any minute after all.

It had been a very long day.

There was a reason, of course. In the dim light coming from above the kitchen sink he stripped Gwen down by the washing machine, leaving the tattered remains of her clothing in a pile to be discarded later. Then he followed it up with most of his own clothes. In the dark he guided her upstairs and into their bathroom. Once comfortable, quietly alone he started the shower and lit a few candles, and when it was hot enough, guided her in.

He settled her on the bench on one wall, and then there was nothing but heat, the rush of the running water, the dimness of the flickering lights. He pulled out the strong, deodorant soap he used after the gym and soaped and rinsed and soaped and rinsed until he got all the filth off her skin. As he was working on her hair her heard her sigh, felt her shift against him. "He…he was r…right you k…know."

"Who was, love?"

"V…Vallejo. This really isn't my body anymore."

"Shhhh." Spencer went back to scrubbing quietly. This was a disturbing new development. "Vallejo was just trying to control you."

"I don't like this body anymore, Spencer. I don't want it anymore."

"Shhh." He pulled her in close, all warmth and soap between them. "You will again, I promise. It will get better in time."

"I'm tired, Spencer, I'm tired of fighting." She sighed and leaned against him.

"Then let me take care of you. Let me fight for you, until you're ready to take over again. Please?"

Gwen closed her eyes and nodded. I always could trust him, she thought, the only man intelligent enough to trust.

Spencer rinsed her off, washed himself quickly, then shut off the water. He left her in the steamy enclosure, and went to fill up the tub. Rose scented bubbled, rose oil, the room was filling up with fragrant steam. He passed her one of the water bottles he'd picked up in the kitchen. "Drink." He watched her obediently take a sip. "Nope, all of it, you need to stay hydrated." Once she had about half the bottle down and the tub was two-thirds full he picked her up and settled her in. Only then did he hear a sound from the bedroom. "Stay there, I'll be right back." He found the sweats he wore to bed behind the door, pulled them on, and headed out to see what was going on.

"What are you doing?" Spencer asked, noting too late that that was an obvious question. He looked over at Morgan, who was using a staple gun to hang the spare sheets over the windows. He peeled off the rubber glove he was wearing to protect his bandaged thumb, cracked open his own bottle and made his way to the vanity chair. "Other than ruining my paint job."

"Vallejo said that he saw what you two were up to the other night. I'm making sure no other freaks are looking in." I said I would protect you and I didn't, Morgan thought as he stapled up another length of sheet. Now I'm doing what I can. "I'll help you touch up the paint tomorrow."

"That was down on the ground floor, you know." Spencer sighed. "We should have stayed home and painted the library today. I think it's going to be some kind of green."

"I don't care. Tomorrow we're going shopping for blinds or something." Morgan looked over at him. "There's an ice pack there for you. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Vallejo has a lighter grip than the average high school football player." Spencer reached over and cracked open the bathroom door, "Are you okay?" The answering murmur sounded pleased enough so he shut the door to keep the heat in and then winced as he shoved the ice pack down his pants.

"Is she talking yet?" Morgan wanted to know.

"Yes, thankfully. Granted this had lead to either a breakthrough or a break-down or something. She said she doesn't feel like her body is hers anymore."

"Disassociation? Depsonalization?"

"I don't know yet. She might just be reacting to the ongoing cycle of abuse and medical treatments. She's still underweight, she's still carrying scars. I have no doubt that what she sees in the mirror does not match what she sees in her head. And to top it all, we see a doctor or therapist nearly every day, so she's always being poked or prodded or something."

"So what are you going to do about it?"

"At the moment, nothing, anything I try to do is going to be undone on the trip to Colorado, so we might as well get it over with as soon as possible."

Morgan finished the sheets and sat down in the wing chair where Spencer sometimes sat up reading while he watched Gwen sleep. "What exactly are you having done out there that they can't do here?"

Spencer took a deep breath. "There's a doctor out there who's extremely well known and successful in the gender reassignment field."

"Gender reassignment. Sex change?" Now Morgan really was curious.

"Yeah. It turns out the same technique used to turn a clitoris into a small penis can be used to recreate a clitoris after it's been damaged through female genital mutilation or torture. The clitoral body actually extends several centimeters below the surface, only the tip of it is what you usually see. For a female-to-male transition they pull up several centimeters and build a shaft out of the surrounding tissue. For a re-build they remove the scar tissue, pull up a small amount of nerve tissue, and re-cover it with the nearest healthy tissue. In addition she needs some scars from friction burns removed, probably including a labiaplasty, scars from some badly healed fistulas removed so she can handle penetration without pain and scar tissue at the top of the vault from that hysterectomy removed and a silicone implant put in to mimic a cervix."

Morgan just blinked at him in shock for a long moment. "I didn't realize it was that bad."

Spencer nodded. "All that in addition to being a good twenty percent underweight, having electrical burn scars on her breasts, ligature scars around her wrists and ankles and that blasted brand. And she's already developing arthritis in her wrists." He looked down at his bandaged thumb. "Tell me again why I didn't get narcotics for this."

"Because they wouldn't help in the long run. No wonder she doesn't feel like her body is her own anymore. Hell, I wouldn't either. They won't do any of that here?"

"Not the clitoral rebuild. Finding a doctor comfortable with the technique is extremely difficult. The idea of a female-to-male transition is even more taboo than male-to-female, so there are fewer doctors who have enough background, and then the doctors who do work with FGM survivors tend to get death threats from extremists in the Muslim community. The French doctor who pioneered the technique tried to set up a free clinic in Nigeria to do repairs, but had to close it after it was firebombed twice. At the moment there's only the one doctor commonly performing the surgery in the US."

"Damm. You know, I am going to worry about her now until you tell me everything is okay."

"You're going to be worrying for a while. It takes six months for the nerves to fully heal from the trauma of the surgery."

"Six months. So you two aren't going to do anything until October?"

Spencer shrugged. "It'll give her a chance to heal psychologically."

Morgan was quiet a moment. "So, if she's still so bad off, how did you two…"

"I talked her through it."

"Talked?" Morgan chuckled as Spencer nodded, looking like a cat with a mouthful of feathers. "Only you, man, only you." He paused a long moment. "You know, maybe you should get her to dye her hair back."

"She wanted it that way. She wanted an obvious symbol of things being changed. Of her being changed"

"Yeah, well, maybe now she needs an obvious symbol of her getting control again."

The doorbell downstairs rang just as Gwen came out, clean and warm and wrapped in her favorite flannel nightgown. Morgan smiled at her. "Hey, this chair is comfortable. Want to just do Chaplan and dinner up here?" He headed down for the pizza as they both nodded. "Good, that way I don't have to worry about getting pizza on the couch. I'm sleeping there tonight and you're out of clean sheets."


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

**Old Peterson House**

**Fredericksburg, VA**

**The Next Day**

Spencer opened his arms in the cool dawn light, and let his wife crawl in between them. "Good morning."

"Good morning." Gwen smiled as she settled in where she could feel his heartbeat under her cheek. "It's not over, is it?"

"What do you mean? He's dead. By now he's probably autopsied, he's lying in a drawer somewhere."

"Yes, but we still have to go tell everyone at the Bureau what happened, see more doctors, dissect everything with a therapist. I thought it would all be all over now. I am so bloody tired of this." She sighed and snuggled. "I think I'm just bloody tired."

"Mmmm. Just because they let you come home from the hospital doesn't mean you're not still pretty sick. And yesterday did not help." He rested his chin in her hair. "Maybe we should put off the trip to Colorado until you're stronger."

"No. That's going to take forever to heal from; I want to get it over with." She sighed and tipped her face up in that way of hers, so he could nuzzle her face. "I guess I just thought that once he was gone my body would magically go back to how it was and I'd feel healthy and strong again."

"Is that like my thinking you'd be exactly the way you were when you left?" He happily obliged her. "If you can't go back in terms of experiences, maybe you should try building something new physically. I mean, there was a lot you didn't do because you thought you couldn't then."

"You think I can now? I'm still wired weird you know."

"Yes, but I also know now strong you are." He gently traced one puckered circle of an electrical burn scar on the side of her breast. "These aren't just marks he left, they're survivor scars. You might think about setting goals for yourself. As you meet them get his scars removed. And I think you ought to concentrate on all the experiences he thought you didn't deserve, because you do."

She thought back to all those mornings, the ones on the Farm, waking in the unheated barn curled under the straw, cold and afraid and alone. "Like curling up in a warm bed in the morning with someone who loves me?"

"That's a good place to start."

**Bower's Clinic**

**Trinidad, Colorado**

**One week later**

Gwen took a deep breath, and her eyes fluttered open. It seemed like one breath ago the anesthesiologist was telling her to start counting backward. In some dim, distant part of her mind she was impressed with his professional skill at that.

Spencer noticed the breathing, the eyes opened. He leaned over the bed and kept his voice calm and low. "Good morning. Dr. Bower said everything was a complete success."

Gwen smiled, and drifted off to sleep again.

------

**Old Peterson House**

**Fredericksburg, VA**

**One Month Later**

There was still, in theory, one unsub out there. But the team agreed that with Vallejo gone and the FBI in the picture, he was unlikely to travel across country to harass a victim. Even so, when Spencer finally went back to work, the Bureau assigned a bodyguard/home health aid to guard the witness and help a valued member of such a unique team. Gwen understood this, thought it was a grand idea. But, really, just for one morning, she wanted to be alone. She rather suspected those two people in the car out there were guarding the house, and she planned to invite them in after lunch, but for now, alone. She warmed up the house, put on a sweater, and turned on a little jazz to fill the silence.

I can do this, she thought as she tipped the contents of the bowl in front of her out onto her kitchen counter, watched it undulate and settle into a giant mound. I have always wanted to do this. I am stronger than my wiring. I endured being covered in filth, being soaked in bodily fluids from a dozen different mammals, not being able to wash for weeks on end. I did that and now I can do this. This is my body, to enjoy and to control and I will do this.

Finally she took a deep breath, and plunged her hands into the mass of bread dough in front of her. It was warm and thick and sticky and smelled of working yeast and warm wheat. Every nerve in her body screamed with the desire to Get It Off Now! But there, in that place, there was no way to get it off so you had to endure. She remembered what she had learned, breathed and breathed, until her nerves got used to the sensation.

And then she began to knead.

------

Spencer came home from a day of catching up with all the active cases, with a file box full of more reading to do. The agent who was spending days here told him that everything was completely quiet, and he was a lucky bastard for marrying such a fabulous cook. Which Spencer agreed with totally, but Gwen hadn't really been up to cooking that much….

The smell hit him as soon as he walked in the door. He followed it into the kitchen. "You made bread?"

"Yes." Gwen replied, looking utterly thrilled and pleased with herself. "I made bread."

**Old Peterson House**

**Fredericksburg, VA**

**Two Months Later**

"Oh, you didn't!"

Spencer leaned against the porch rail, grinning at Gwen's surprise. It wasn't that there were two new bicycles there, or that one was the girly kind designed to be safely ridden in a skirt. Or that it was the kind that gave one a gentle, upright, easy to balance kind of ride. Or that the saddle was wide and leather and soft and designed to take the pressure off delicate places. Or that it came with baskets that would help someone still not driving friendly to be more independent and do her own shopping. It was that it was a shade of aqua blue he knew she particularly liked, with bright pink rims and painted with roses. "When I saw it in the shop I knew it had to be yours. It practically had your name."

"Oh, it's been years! Do you really think I can?"

"They say you never forget how to ride a bike. And it's only a few miles to the train station, from there you can go wherever you like. Heck, you can even go in to DC." He grinned and nodded back at his, which he chose for a commuter, for regular trips to that same station. "Want to give it a try?"

"Oh yes."

**St. Francis Service Dogs**

**Roanoke, VA**

**Four months later.**

Not black, she had told him. I won't even consider a dark dog. And no larger than 80 lbs or so.

He'd asked why. He'd held her tight while she told him.

"Autism service dogs are trained to help the human prioritize necessary information, and assist them in handling situations which are, to them, so overstimulating as to be confusing." He'd explained to Morgan earlier. "For example alerting to the fire alarm in a crowded, noisy store. They also help calm anxiety, lessen the need for self-stimulating behavior and enhance social skills by taking the focus in most social situations."

"And the presence of a well-trained dog will lower her target profile. Most unsubs don't want to risk a bite, or a barking dog alerting people to something going wrong."

"There is that."

No black dogs, she'd said. No Rotweillers or Dobermans. No big dogs.

But when the smaller than average, female Golden Lab came over and put her paw on Gwen's knee she couldn't help but reach out. "Hello, Gipsy."

**FBI Academy**

**Quantico, VA**

**Five months later**

Spencer finished introducing his wife to the martial arts instructor, who had volunteered to work with her. "Are you sure you're up to this?"

"The doctor says I am." Gwen was nervous as anything. But she knew she could take the blows, she'd taken worse, and the gym was quiet enough.

"That's not what I mean."

"I don't know, but I'm going to try."


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31**

**BAU Headquarters**

**Quantico, VA**

**Six months later**

Three cases, back-to-back, if there is a God, Spencer thought, then I swear he is Murphy, the God of Everything That Can Go Wrong. He settled back in his chair and tried to work the tension out of his shoulders. He didn't even have time to go home before they were taking off again, Gwen was bringing him a fresh go bag with clean laundry, and he'd just have enough time to see her briefly before they were heading off to Idaho. Someone had been taking children….

He looked up as the distinctive form came into view through the glass doors; Gipsy's presence at her side was a dead giveaway. The dog and the bicycle gave her back her independence, especially now that any threats were deemed minor, and she no longer had a bodyguard. But…"What's with the hood? It's like ninety degrees outside."

"Well, I finished the last scar treatment and got a clean bill of health while you were gone." Gwen's grin was just visible beneath the shadow of the hood.

"I thought you were going to wait on that appointment until I got back."

"I decided I had to do it on my own. I just had to."

"And you proved to yourself that it was okay." Spencer smiled. "I'm proud of you. And for passing that class as well, we need to celebrate that when I get back. But what's with the hood?"

"I decided since I've reached the new normal I wanted to look more like myself." Gwen pulled back the hood. Her hair wasn't exactly the old chestnut brown. She'd gone with a deep color more auburn, more…

Morgan whistled. "Hello, Red. Hey, I heard you passed the basic hand-to-hand course. Congratulations. "

Spencer felt his own grin growing. Her hair color wasn't exactly, precisely natural, but it was closer than the white, and with her bright blue eyes it was stunning. "Um, wow. I like it; a lot!"

"Thank you. I have something else to show you as well." She got Gipsy to sit and stay and then turned to Morgan. "Thanks. Can I borrow your office a minute?"

"Sure thing gorgeous," He grinned as the passed him and closed the door.

"You said you finished the last scar treatment." Spencer frowned a little when they were alone. "I thought we finished those a month ago." Most of the scars had been removed with laser treatments. The whipping scars on her torso and thighs were completely gone. The electrical burns on her breasts reduced to faint pink smudges on her ivory skin, the bands around her wrists and ankles smoothed and blended until you had to look to see that the skin was thicker there. Only that dammed brand had actually come out worse in the end. It was no longer raised; the skin there was utterly smooth. But removing it had clarified the edges of the red mark that remained. The crossed J and overlying V of the Vallejo brand were now crystal clear. And there was nothing to be done about it.

"I went back for one more just after you left a few weeks ago. You've been so busy it's had time to heal." Gwen smiled and unbuttoned her waistband, undid her fly. She peeled down one corner, taking her underpants with it, and showed him the result.

Spencer felt his smile growing again, big enough to split. He reached out and gently ran his knuckles over the tattoo of a chess piece that completely covered the remains of the brand, "A white knight?"

"I know who I belong to." She stepped closer, pulling his arms around the warm skin of her waist, and stretched up to kiss him.

"Wheels up in thirty, folks, I need my office back." Morgan chose just that moment to come in. He was going to ignore the kiss, but the open fly caught his attention and he just had to. "Man, the copy room is traditional for that sort of thing."

Gwen broke the kiss long enough to step back and do up her fastenings. They both chose to ignore that remark. "Just bring him home safe to me."

"You know I will Red. I always do." Morgan sorted the paperwork, and waited through the last few kisses and murmured I love yous, before Gwen went to collect Gipsy and leave them to the work. "I have got to find a woman like that. You are a lucky man."

"Yeah, I am," Spencer agreed, stars in his eyes. "How hard is it to get a tattoo?"

**Old Peterson House**

**Fredericksburg, VA**

Spencer looked up after he washed the last of the shaving soap from his face. That last case had been a doozy; Hotch had ordered everyone to take a three day weekend and relax, an order which Spencer intended to follow whole-heartedly. When he looked in the mirror he spotted his wife leaning in the doorway, with an odd look on her face. "What are you thinking?"

"That I'm glad you're home." She shifted a little, feeling the soft silk of her skirt settle a little lower on her hips. "And that you're still amazing after all this time. They did say clean bill of health you know."

"Yeah, you said that." It took a moment for the penny to drop. "Oh, are you sure?"

"Completely?" She watched him nod.

"Honestly, no. I'm nervous about the possibility of flashbacks. But there's no way to predict those in advance. I do know that I've become dammed proud of the work I've done. And there is one thing I know I want."

Spencer was dimly glad that his sweat pants were loose around his hips. There was room for what was growing there. "What's that?"

"Remember my first shower, in the hospital in LA? When I told you I didn't want you to look at me like that, and you said you wouldn't until it I let you?" When he nodded she pulled her top over her head. It wasn't the pink and ivory bra Spencer remembered from the day they had first kissed, this one was a delicate green that set off the color of her hair and her ivory skin. The scars were faint memories, the bicycle and walking Gipsy had given her skin a healthy glow and much tender care had made it softer than the silk she wore, and a healthy diet had filled in all of her curves. "Well, I'm letting you; forever, as of now."

Spencer's heart rate tripled and his mouth went dry just looking at her. A few steps and she was in his arms. Unless she tells me to stop, he thought, the house could burn down around us this time. He bent down to kiss her, slow, shallow, teasing. "Do you remember the day at the movies, when we first kissed, when you were going to buy your first bra?"

"Mmm-hmm" Gwen stretched up on her toes, nipping at his jaw line since he insisted on talking.

"I was sitting outside fantasizing how you would look in that thing, something like a wrapped gift. You look a million times better than I dreamed."

Gwen chuckled, took his hand and guided it up to the clasp, showed him how to make it open. "So unwrap me all ready." Then her head fell back and she moaned as his palm cupped her, teased at the hard bud, followed by that hungry, busy mouth.

Spencer answered her moan with his own as he licked and teased and tasted. She tasted of roses, he thought, and perhaps vanilla cake, all soft and sweet and like heaven. While he tasted her throat his hands slipped lower, to cup her backside, below the waistband of that skirt, which obligingly fell away to puddle at her feet. It took him a long moment of gentle stroking to realize that she hadn't been wearing anything underneath. That with the sole exception of her wedding ring she was, oh god, utterly naked in his arms. He picked her up, holding her to him and walked her the few steps to the bed, all the while feasting on her lips, or perhaps she was feasting on his. He lay her down and covered her as he had so long ago. "If you want me to stop, tell me."

"Don't you dare," was all she could say, all she could think as she pulled him onto her. His long, lean body felt so solid and so good and so right. He tasted of caramel, she realized, and apples somehow and some sort of spice as she nipped and licked and explored his throat and collarbone. Her hands glided over the tight muscles of his back, pushing his pants down and off before reaching around to try to find him, cup him, pleasure him that way.

He caught her hands, stopped her. "I won't last." He admitted. This was too good, too rare; he wanted to savor every moment as long as he could. He made the long arm behind them, felt about on the nightstand for the small bottle he'd been keeping behind his clock, a talisman for the day it might be needed, ever since they returned from Colorado so many months ago. His attempts to continue to kiss her while slicking one hand left them both laughing while they tried to crawl into each other's skins, "Ah, hold on. I don't want to drip on you." He paused and managed and when he returned to her reached down and cupped her and then slipped his fingers against her. "You know, I have no clue what I'm doing."

"Whatever it is, it's nice." Gwen's eyes drifted shut. She could feel him now, touching her there and there, gentle and smooth. And when he found that knot of nerve and skin and began to play she could feel the heat starting to build. "Mmmm, very nice."

"Doesn't hurt?"

"Not at all."

Which was all well and good, Spencer thought, but I was kinda hoping for more of a reaction. He continued kissing her, touching her until she murmured a sigh and her legs parted even more for him. Then he reached lower, slipped in a long, flexible, magician's finger, and found that small lump at the very top.

It's good, Gwen thought; if he keeps that up, I'll get there and I want to and I want this with him. Then he was probing a little and she felt him slip in without pain, which was one worry gone. But then he touched something somewhere deep inside, and she would forever swear he literally touched her core that day. A river of pure pleasure poured through her, pulling a sound from her very soul as she opened completely.

There we go, Spencer thought as he watched this transformation, that's what I was hoping for. He kept playing with that small lump gently as she began to twist and buck against him, clearly helplessly lost in her own pleasure. And when his thumb found that twist of nerves and his mouth found her breast he felt her tighten and gasp and nearly lose it right there. He gently pulled free, looking into her dazed eyes and kissing away her protest, reached down and slicked himself because she couldn't, then rolled over between her thighs and positioned himself against her. "Yes?" he whispered, wanting to be sure. Her only answer was a moan as she wrapped her legs around him and tried to pull him in. He took that as a positive answer and slowly, finally, slipped inside her.

The first thrust was shallow, and hurt, just a little, just enough to cause the smallest warning mew. Expect it, the doctor had said, you'll be tight after the surgery, this will be new again. The second filled her completely, drew a satisfied sound from her throat. The third was harder, surer, and found that spot again. She tightened her legs around him and rocked to pull him deeper and cried out from being so dammed near to falling utterly.

He was not going to last, he thought. She was too warm, too tight, too perfectly fitted around him. He entered her once, twice and then felt skin meet skin and could go no further. But that alone, finding that, drove her wild. Instinctively she lifted her hips and twisted them against him, wanting more of that sensation, more and more. He tried to think of anything other than what he was doing, but it was too late. He felt his body draw up, and knew this wasn't going to last long enough at all. All he could do was prop himself high enough to watch her face, watch the beautiful agony building there, and hope he would last long enough.

It didn't take long. He pressed into her once and then once more and Gwen felt herself about to fall over that edge. This was nothing like what happened with Sam. That was a tiny thing compared to what this was going to be. And then he pressed once more and twisted her just slightly more open and his bones brushed against that twist of nerves and her body tightened and her world shattered as she threw back her head and screamed out her pleasure.

It was impossible to miss, this. The way she tightened against and around him, the look of utter amazement in her eyes, the loudness of her cry. Then Spencer felt her tighten inside, pulsing against him, pulling him in and that was all. With a helpless cry of his own he let go and fell right along with her.

It just went on and on, one peak and then the next when she felt him tighten and thrust one hard time into her, then a breath and another when she felt his heat fill her to overflowing. Finally she fell back into the featherbed, gasping for breath as that heat seeped in to her blood and her bones. Later she would think biochemistry, but right now all she could do was laugh, laugh with joy.

Spencer fell on top of her, managed just to shift enough to catch his weight without slipping out of her. No, he wasn't ready for that yet. She was still too perfectly warm and he was still far too lost to leave that warmth just yet. He heard her laughing and grinned, burying his face in her neck. Prostaglandins, he thought, endorphins. She gets all the good chemicals out of this. Not that I'm complaining at all. He just kissed her, nipping lightly at her lips until the storm of laughter died down. "Good, then?"

Gwen answered with small, happy sounds. Great, that makes me not talk too, she thought, which is perfectly fine with me. She used body language instead, wrapping her arms and legs around him and looking him in the eyes and nodding. His eyes, she realized, I can look in them now and it doesn't hurt at all. Oh good heavens, it doesn't hurt at all.

Now that he'd caught his breath Spencer dared wrapping her up and rolling, laying her over top of him, her warm auburn hair draping them both like a silken shawl, which was perfect timing because just then his phone decided to ring. I could not answer it, he thought, but then they would come make sure we're safe and that would be worse. So holding her in place against him, he reached out and answered with a voice thickened with satiation and desire. "What?"

"I've got one more file to put to bed before I can go home." Morgan answered. "Where is your report on the McReedy case?"

"Mmmm, on my desk. Check the out box."

"No, I looked… there it is, never mind." Spencer could almost hear Morgan frowning. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah. I'm okay. We're fine. You can stop worrying about Gwen now." That earned him a small, contented laugh.

"Stop worrying about…oh." He could feel the penny drop into Morgan's head. "Oh. I'll get off the phone then."

"Yeah, talk to you tomorrow, G'night." We're better than fine he thought as he put the phone back on the nightstand and hugged her tighter, burying his nose in her hair. We're absolutely wonderful because she's finally all the way home to me. I found my heart, my heart.

**NOTE**: I'd like to thank my Beta Reader, the fabulous REIDFANATIC for all the amazing work she did on this project. I couldn't have done it without you

Spencer and Gwen's story will continue.


End file.
